To Change the World
by i've gone slightly mad
Summary: Harry has another Aunt. She's just about as different to Petunia as it's possible to imagine, and has looked after her nephew with love. Harry's also pretty different, and joining an unsuspecting Hogwarts in fourth year. Powerful Harry. Grey Harry. AU 4th Year. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Hi! This is my first fanfic of any significant length so I hope that you guys are willing to be nice; but hey, I'll try to roll with any punches, and grammatical & continuity errors being highlighted would be really helpful.

If you find brief notes that establish the premise of the story and help you decide whether or not you'd actually like to read something helpful, then here is one. Personally, having to wade through a few thousand words of exposition with no idea where it's leading, or whether the plot that eventually kicks in is worth it, is always something I've found slightly irritating. The note is divided into two parts. The first briefly backgrounds the AU the story is located in. Hopefully this is somewhat helpful, and also allows me to give some information without throwing a load of messy and shoehorned description into the story itself.

The second part is gradually explained in the body of the story. It narrows the focus and attempts to elucidate events that lead to the starting point of the story. It contains fairly minor spoilers for some things that occur, or are otherwise explained, in the first few chapters, so please ignore the second part of the following if that's not your scene:

 **-I-** _Wizarding Britain is divided into parts. The largest is magical London; under the direct governance of the Ministry of Magic. Twenty other largely independent territories are ruled by The Twenty; twenty powerful families who form independent alliances and are largely autonomous. The Wizengamot holds the supreme authority over Wizarding Britain as a whole and consists 100 seats. 60 are held by freely elected individuals. The remaining 40 are held by The Twenty; the Lord of each holding two seats._

 _Magic is largely divided into two parts; Light and Dark. These are in no way directly analogous to good and evil. Society is stratified, and one of the lines along which this occurs is individual and familial allegiance to the Dark/Light branch of magic. The reality is more nuanced than that, but hopefully that's sufficient for now._

 **-II-** _Lily had a second sister; Miriam. She's actually nice. Harry went from the care of the Dursleys into the custody of Miriam Evans at the age of three. The Evans were a muggle family who have had interactions with the wizarding world via business ties for several generations. Because of this, they always knew about the wizarding world. Harry is brilliant, informed and ambitious. Miriam Evans is intelligent, wealthy and well-connected enough to indulge that and support and protect her adopted son._

 _Dumbledore is a mixture of manipulative and insane and Harry knows this, as well as about horcuxes and the probable survival of Voldemort. He has stayed largely away from trouble and in the muggle world, training with and learning from the best money can buy. He is now, however, fourteen, independent, and has decided to return to the wizarding world._

 _I'm the first to admit that a few of early aspects and tropes I use are long way from original in the HP fandom, but hopefully as the story progresses I get either get further away from them and their normal uses, or transfigure them with my insanity._

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-I-

Three letters. Two owls. One crow. A fourteenth birthday. That was the sum total of the morning's arrivals. Harry stretched out in his deeply comfortable bed, enjoying the play of warm silk against skin as he forced himself into wakefulness. He blinked once before turning his head sharply towards a window on the far side of the room, left open the night before, gauzy curtains shifting gently in the slowly moving air. The trio of birds on the sill stood out in sharp relief against the dawn. The owls were waiting patiently; the crow was responsible for waking him.

Harry debated showering before addressing the post, but elected not to try the patience of the two birds who were eyeing their companion with icy disdain. Slipping out of bed, he paced across the room to retrieve his letters. The first, emerald ink on heavy cream parchment, was expected. Its barn owl, looking surprisingly unruffled from its intercontinental flight, sidled neatly through the slightly open window and took off immediately. The second, a thick parcel wrapped in canvas, unaddressed and sealed with a blood stamp, was predicted. Its courier, an enormous horned owl, remained stationary and impassive. The third, a lined sheet of muggle paper, folds held by magic rather than envelope, was a complete surprise. The crow, with a final caw of farewell, followed its recently departed companion into the morning beyond the apartment block. He nodded the remaining messenger onto his forearm, taking her to settle on the back of a chair before summoning a bag of owl treats and bowl of water with a lazy wave of his hand. Leaving her to eat, he sat at the desk and opened the first missive.

 _Dear Harry,_ it began. His lips twitched slightly at this new informality.

 _I know that you are at least receiving these letters, although my others have all failed to reach you, and so I must trust to official Hogwarts correspondence. I would like to offer you once more a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. It is time for you to assume your place in our society, the society of your birth and heritage. You must by now have accepted the existence of magic; your powers cannot be but obviously manifest at your age even without training. It is dangerous for you to develop outside of the structured environment Hogwarts can provide._

 _I offer you the education you require to reconcile with your magic and learn to use it. Whatever your current circumstances, all you need do is sign the bottom of this parchment and the owl who bore it will return and carry your confirmation. Any correspondence, or information about your circumstances you might wish to inform me of, may also be sent. If you require rescue, I can help you._

 _Remedial training to bring you up to the level of your peers at Hogwarts will be made available to you, and I include a list of the subjects on offer to fourth years (those you choose will be your OWL subjects)._

 _I hope to hear from you soon._

 _Yours in friendship,_

 _Albus Dumbledore, MoT, OoM, OoSC_

 _Headmaster of Hogwards,_

 _Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot &_

 _Grand High Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards_

Harry raised an eyebrow at the parchment, surprised by the indications of Dumbledore's rising desperation; the suggestion that he might require rescue at odds with the expected tone of staid complacency, and, more startlingly, the faintly emotional intimation of friendship at the end. The impatience was clear, however, and hilarious.

Harry turned over to the second enclosed sheet to find a list of subjects;

 _List of Subjects, Required Texts and Equipment: Year 4_

 _Core Subjects (compulsory) (any additional texts provided)_

 _Transfiguration (Poultry to Porcelain: Intermediate Transfigurations for the Able Student, by Albus Dumbledore)_

 _Charms (The Standard Book of Spells: Year 4, by Miranda Goshawk)_

 _Defence Against the Dark Arts (Curses & Creatures: Wizarding Protection in the Modern World, by Claudius Stormwind)_

 _Magical Theory (The Complete Guide to European Magical Theory, by Cuthbert Dewden)_

 _Potions (Draughts of the Mind, by H.E.F Slughorn)_

 _Arithmancy & Finance (Numerology and Grammatica, by Misocles Carneiro)_

 _Astronomy (Light in-between the Dark Spaces: Stars & Constellations of the Northern Hemisphere, by Anastasius Rigel) _

_History of Magic (Wizarding Britain & the Age of Change, 1450-1700, by Bathilda Bagshot)_

 _Herbology (The Comprehensive Plants of Europe & Asia, by Phyllida Spore)_

 _English & Magical Literature (Writers Muggle and Magical of the Early-Modern Era, by Archibald Chauxton)_

 _Electives (minimum one, maximum three)_

 _Advanced Arithmancy (The Maths behind the Magic: Further Equations for the Gifted, by Annette Wenlock)_

 _Geographical Studies (Two Worlds, One Earth, by Arthur Trench)_

 _Muggle Studies (Primitive or Misunderstood? The Culture of the Non-Magical, by Wilhelm Wigworthy)_

 _Ancient Runes (Signs & Symbols: Making Sense of Marks, by Yuri Blishen)_

 _Care of Magical Creatures (Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them, by Newt Scamander)_

 _Magical Languages (Texts provided by the school, and vary according to language/s studied, inquire for further details)_

 _Divination (Unfogging the Future, by Cassandra Vablatsky)_

 _Ancient Studies (Old Magicks: Cultures of Southern Europe and Latin America, by Monty Ochti)_

 _Music (Magical Chords and Muggle Music, by Giordiano Caccini [basic proficiency in an instrument required; auditions during first week of term])_

 _Art (Painting the Soul: Portraiture and the Science of Moving Pigment, by Marvin van der Doon)_

 _(Those teachers responsible for their individual electives reserve the right to refuse admission to their course to any they consider unsuitable)_

 _Standard Equipment/Clothing (Male): Robes (3 sets, plain black, house crest), Tie (house colours), Shirts (5, white, formal), trousers (3 pairs, black/charcoal, formal), Shoes (black, formal), Dress Robes, Dragonhide Protective Gloves and Apron, Quills, Ink, Parchment, Cauldron (1, Standard Size), Potions Kit (Standard Student), Telescope (brass), Wand._

 _Musical instruments and broomsticks are welcomed, as long as stored and used appropriately. Casual clothing may be worn before breakfast, after dinner, and during weekends._

Harry nodded slowly as he worked his way through the list, but rolled his eyes when he reached a postscript scrawled in Dumbledore's illegibly loopy hand: _Your parents were possessed of considerable wealth.-_ the standard assurance to a financially unsure young wizard that had appeared in every year's letter- _I would be delighted to accompany you to Diagon Street so you might have my guidance in Gringotts (the main Wizarding bank)-_ the slightly suspicious, vaguely creepy, and probably greed-motivated, offer.

He flattened the two pieces of parchment out on the desk in front of him before concentrating on extending his magical senses; dropping into the semi-trancelike state that allowed him to see curses and enchantments with far more clarity than his normal awareness would permit. This way managed to be both quicker and far more thorough than the myriad diagnostic spells he would otherwise have had to use. The magic he had sensed on the first page was, as expected, now visible as the gentle white glow of a binding magical contract, its words hidden behind the visible text, and the space for his signature where Dumbledore had politely suggested he affix his name. The contract itself would do little more than tie him to Hogwarts, preventing his enrolment at any other school of magic, although the gentle inclination towards attendance it would initially instil in him would no doubt gradually strengthen if he failed to arrive.

The second parchment was more interesting. The bottom three inches, containing the text of Dumbledore's addendum, appeared to his sight to be dripping slowly with a luminous sickly lilac liquid. Examining more closely he felt the gentle pull of a compulsion; no doubt the parchment had been carefully dipped in what was a hugely complicated, and internationally illegal, potion. It was impressive; the letter itself had borne only a very faint magical trace he had initially subconsciously explained as the natural result of stationery stored in powerfully magical surroundings, and subsequently handled and marked by a wizard of considerable strength.

Despite the lack of magical signature, the compulsion suspended in the potion and soaked into the parchment was hugely strong and, although not doubting his ability to throw off its effects, Harry was glad that he had managed not to touch the poisoned area. The purpose of the compulsion itself seemed to encourage a belief in, and an acting upon, the words covered by the potion, but also a more general trust in the man who had written them.

 _Dumbledore's getting desperate_ Harry thought amusedly as he passed a hand over the sheets, brushing them to the side as they folded themselves neatly.

He drew the heavy pack of canvas-wrapped papers in front of him, and a silver letter opener from the desk drawer. He pressed the enchanted tip gently against the tip of his left forefinger and let the drop of blood that welled fall onto the crimson seal in the centre of the folded canvas. The Gringotts blood stamp melted away, recognising the identity of the one to whom it had been sent, and releasing the wrappings around the documents rather than burning the whole packet to ashes, as would have happened in the event of attempted tampering or the application of the wrong blood.

A stack of parchment leaves even weightier than Dumbledore's stationery was revealed, a letter written in neat copperplate at the top.

 _Dear Lord Potter,_

 _It has come to our attention that today, your fourteenth birthday, marks your rightful coming-of-age according to the ancient traditions of Britain's Noble Houses. You are now able to lay full claim to the Potter lands, properties, vaults, titles and dignities. Special Wizengamot dispensation will be required to receive official ministry acknowledgement of your coming of age, and to demand your family seats on the Wizengamot itself, which you can otherwise only accede to at the age of 17, but within your own lands, and to all those who live on your territory, your word is now law. The others of The Twenty will acknowledge your ascent and accord you the appropriate honours, as they adhere to the same centuries-old traditions._

 _Gringotts would like to offer you its congratulations and compliments. Furthermore, it is our honour to invite you to visit any of our major branches at a time of your convenience so that you might claim what wealth of yours we hold in the Potter vaults._

 _I include a list of the assets of yours we have held in trust for you for the last thirteen years; we manage a significant property portfolio in addition to extensive shareholdings in both the magical and muggle worlds in your name._

 _Desiring to do business with you soon,_

 _Bronzeclaw,_

 _Director,_

 _Gringotts, London_

He found himself faintly surprised by the platitudes, but supposed it was his wealth that had prompted the businesslike goblins to write in such a way. Harry flicked curiously through the financial statements and lists of his holdings for a few minutes before setting them aside.

The third letter was the most curious. Harry unfolded and spread the slightly crumpled page out, finding it densely covered in tiny writing.

 _Dear Harry,_ it began.

 _I beg you to read what I write with an open mind; that's all I can ask of you. My name is Sirius Black._ At this point Harry froze, forcing down the white-hot rage any mention of that name had induced in him since Remus had told him the full story of his parents' betrayal two years ago. The news of Black's escape from Azkaban had reached him with the Daily Prophet nearly a year previously, and the subsequent loss of control over his wandless magic in his fury had required the replacement of the kitchen in the flat they had been staying in at that time. Only the wards his magic had strengthened on Remus' blueprint had prevented the entire building from going up in flames. He spent a few moments calming down, resisting the temptation to shove everything away with Occlumency, and let his innate curiosity at the request he have an open mind come to the fore.

He continued reading. _I did not betray, would_ _never_ _have betrayed, James and Lily._ Harry forced back a snort of disbelief and tried to ignore the painful reminder of those words. _Your parents were betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, who was made secret-keeper for the Fidelius when it was thought Voldemort would assume that was me who your parents would trust with their lives. Giving in to Dumbledore's request in this has been my biggest regret, the thought that has haunted me the most in Azkaban all these years. I am so sorry to write to you now and stir up your pain and rage, but know that, although we have never met, no one is as important to me as you are. I write now what I know to be the true occurrences of the day following your parents' murder, and your survival._

 _I arrived the morning after All Hallows' Eve to find you alive, and James and Lily dead. I was about to take you from the wreckage of house when Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts groundskeeper, arrived and claimed to have orders from Dumbledore to take you into safe custody. My second most profound regret is allowing myself to be convinced, by both Hagrid and my desire for revenge, to let you go. I knew that you and your parents could only have been found if the secret-keeper had broken the Fidelius. I went after Peter. I found him that evening hiding in a hospital in muggle London. My rage overcame me and we fought in full view of the muggles. I am ashamed to admit that several must have been killed, and although I might wish to blame Pettigrew for those fatalities, I must confess that in my anger I lost control and share at least equal responsibility. I had fought Pettigrew into a corner and disarmed him when I must have been stunned from behind. I woke up in a cell in Azkaban, and was told by a guard that I had been found by the aurors unsconscious by the edge of a crater where the hospital wing we fought in had been blown up. I was apparently clutching Pettigrew's severed finger in my hand, and in those days, with the DMLE under Crouch Sr., that was sufficient grounds for imprisonment._

 _Dumbledore made a mistake in forcing James and Lily to choose Peter, and I believe his unwillingness to admit that inclined him to accept how events turned out. He never questioned my incarceration. Whatever you choose to believe, do_ _not_ _trust that man or his mad philosophies. All that I have claimed in this letter I am willing to testify to under veritaserum, or swear to upon the loss of my life and magic._

 _Although I have no right to ask, I truly believe that you are the only one who can help me, and I have waited in exile until your fourteenth birthday, the earliest age of noble inheritance, to contact you. By the time you read this I will no longer be Lord Black. You are. The Black lands, titles, and vaults are yours. The blood ritual to make you my heir was done when you were a baby and I was first declared your godfather. Until this point, none but myself knew that you were my legal heir, and very few that you were my godson and technically, since your parents' deaths, my ward. I have written to Gringotts, the Black solicitors, and the College of Heralds to renounce the title no legal authority may strip from me. The papers have been filed, and the inheritance will by now automatically have passed to you. I will pass the lordship to you if and when we meet; this is no persuasion, but the ring itself cannot be removed from the finger of the last Lord by any but the new._

 _I, Sirius Orion Black, do formally petition my liege lord and the Head of The Ancient and Noble House of Black for asylum and protection against mine enemies according to the ancient laws and codes of Wizarding Britain. I request that this asylum extend until such time as I might be brought before a trial consisting of my peers where I might be judged fairly for the crimes of which I am accused, but otherwise declared innocent and exonerated from undue blame and the blemish of unfounded accusation._

 _Know that I do not make you Lord Black solely for my own purposes and persuasions, but that I hope you to be capable of being more successful in the role than I have ever had the opportunity or inclination to be. I do not know you, and have not seen you in thirteen years, but I maintain my faith because it is all I have._

 _Meet me. Name a time, a place, and I will be there. I do not ask for you trust, not yet, but only your willingness to listen. A drop of your blood on this letter and the paper will clear. Write a reply, and your owl will find me._

 _I do not know your situation, and I fear that it may be worse than mine. I ask you to meet with someone you believe to be a mass-murderer and the betrayer of your parents. I ask too much and know too little, but can do no more._

 _Your ever loving godfather,_

 _Sirius Black_

Harry sat back into the chair, anger now completely faded and replaced by confusion. There was no doubt that Black's story made considerable sense, and he certainly gave the advice Harry had always given himself with regard to Dumbledore. The accepted hospital explosion and unconscious Sirius had always slightly raised his suspicions, though admittedly the new interpretation asked as many questions as it answered, not least of which was whether Pettigrew was actually dead, seeing as the whole situation Sirius described seemed to be a deliberate setup. He hadn't had the comfort of the knowledge that his parents' betrayer was being punished for his crimes since Sirius' escape nearly a year ago, but the idea that the real traitor might be alive and out there, completely unpunished and living a comfortable life, whole save for a finger, was doubly infuriating.

Something made him inclined to believe Black, though once the folding charms had dispelled there was no trace of magic on the parchment at all, let alone a compulsion. If the purpose of the letter had been to make him question everything, he though wryly, then Black had succeeded. He returned to analyse the contents of the letter, attempting to throw out any preconceptions he had managed to establish on his, admittedly slightly prejudiced, first read-through. Assimilating everything objectively, Harry decided to confirm the inheritance stuff with Gringotts, and ideally the Black solicitors as well, before a meeting.

If it was all true though... he couldn't help but feel guilty both on behalf of Sirius for his decade in prison, and for delaying a response to a man whose last hope he seemed to be, in spite of the accidentally-killed muggles. _Shit..._ he thought suddenly... _Remus._ He was going to have to show him the letter, not least because his advice on how Harry should respond would be invaluable, well, once he got over the implications. He would also need to look into this asylum stuff; he knew that Black hadn't received a trial, but in those days that was hardly unusual, and to the best of his knowledge the imprisonment had still been legally binding. Anyway, this whole affair made the decision he had been considering for months easier.

He stood up, slipping out of the sweatpants he tended to sleep in, and went to shower. He dismissed Gringotts' owl, wanting time to formulate his response.

* * *

Coming through into the huge kitchen half an hour later, dressed in his usual slim dark jeans and white shirt, he found Catalina, the housekeeper his aunt had hired from an agency when they moved into the penthouse three months ago, already cooking. She turned round smiling as he walked in, and he grinned back as he sat down on a stool in front of the counter.

"Morning, sexy." He said cheerfully.

She giggled slightly before composing herself sufficiently to mock-glare at him.

"You should not call me that, Mister Harry.

"It's true though," he replied, dragging on an innocent look, "and, thankfully, me being fourteen and gay makes it charming instead of creepy."

"And a lie." Aunt Mim interjected briskly as her heels clicked sharply into the room.

Harry turned widened eyes on her. "But surely you can tell when another woman is attractive, Auntie?"

She frowned at him slightly. "That doesn't mean I can justify calling them 'sexy'. Anyway," she continued, now smiling, "Happy Birthday, darling." She came over to kiss him on the forehead, carefully avoiding leaving any lipstick behind.

"Cheers, Auntie." Harry thanked her whilst adding smoked salmon to the plate of scrambled egg Catalina had placed in front of him.

"Stop calling me that, makes me feel old," she grumbled.

"And how am I to address you then?" He asked, smiling sweetly, "When you've already decided that 'Mim' is too casual, 'Miriam' too formal, and 'Aunt' too much like Petunia."

"Perhaps we should try 'Ma'am' next?" She responded pleasantly, as she watched Catalina add a bagel to Harry's plate, and smothered the one she had been brought with cream cheese, "It might bring a hitherto missing element of respect to our relationship."

"But there's no one I respect as much as you already, Ma'am. Well, apart from Catalina, but when you can scramble eggs this well, then I'll be happy to rethink the rankings."

"So where do I feature on this list, then?" Remus questioned as he came in, still half asleep and dressed in rumpled pyjamas.

Harry felt a twinge of concern as he watched his tutor and friend sit in front of the enormous cooked breakfast Catalina had placed, still steaming, on the counter. Not only would he have to reopen old wounds, at best making Remus feel guilty for abandoning his friend, and at worst revealing Sirius to be a manipulative bastard trying to get close to Harry, but do so on the day following the night of the full moon.

"Oh, somewhere near the bottom," he replied casually, forcing himself to sound light-hearted.

Remus looked up from his food to glare at him.

Harry shrugged. "It's a short list. That help?"

"Not much."

Harry changed the subject. "Aren't you going to wish me a happy birthday?"

"Happy Birthday."

"Cheers," Harry said brightly.

Remus rolled his eyes at him, before Catalina came to bully him back towards his food.

"Your car's here, Madam."

"Thank you, Catalina." Aunt Mim turned to address Harry, "We'll do lunch. I'll text you."

He nodded agreeably in response, used to his guardian's schedule. "I'll just spend a nice relaxed morning with Remus then.

"No morning with you is ever relaxed."

"Then we'll just have to keep trying," he replied, knowing even as he said it that today was not that day.

Aunt Mim eyed them suspiciously for a moment before grabbing her handbag and striding towards the lift. "Be good." She called behind her.

"Don't worry; I'll keep an eye on them both, Ma'am."

She ignored him.

"Why are you so cheerful this morning?" Remus questioned as soon as she was gone.

"Umm, it's my birthday?" Harry suggested hopefully.

Remus snorted. "You couldn't care less about your birthday."

Harry tilted his head to the side slightly as he eyed Remus. "I got some post this morning."

His tutor looked up as he finished his meal and passed the plate absently to Catalina. "Well, you were expecting that."

"Mhm, two of the three letters." Harry began cautiously as he, too, stopped eating.

"And the third?" Remus questioned suspiciously.

"Is the reason I'm being cheerful."

"Good news then?"

"Nope, but I want to show it to you, and for you to know that I'm not emotionally traumatised or anything, but that I'm here for you when you are."

Remus hadn't lost the faint frown, but looked more confused than anything by now. "Sorry, why would I think you were emotionally traumatised, and why would I be?"

Harry looked at him for a moment longer in silence. "Why don't we sit down, on some furniture that you won't hurt yourself falling off?"

Remus' eyes narrowed further, but he followed Harry when he stood and moved to one of the sleek sofas in the living area.

"Sirius Black." Harry began, deciding that more circumspection would just irritate.

"What?" Came the yelped response.

 _Nearly,_ Harry mused internally, as Remus' start of surprise, no doubt made considerably more violent by the remnants of his transformation the previous night, brought him perilously close to the edge of his seat. He silently summoned the letter in question, raising a hand to catch it neatly.

Remus, apparently putting two and two together in spite of his shock, eyed the letter as though it were a bomb. "You mean..." he began, "you mean that... that that's from him?"

"Yup."

Harry could almost see the mind opposite him working furiously, probably wondering, behind all of that instinctive rage, why on earth Harry was being so calm about all of this, and how the letter was still intact rather than ashes. Eventually, he seemed to force himself to calm, no doubt for his sake, thought Harry.

"May I see the letter?" Came the request, in a voice of such peculiar serenity that Harry immediately suspected forced Occlumency.

Nevertheless, he wordlessly handed it over. Remus took it gingerly. Harry watched his face pale progressively, and was there to catch him when he began to fall in on himself at the end, Occlumency barriers no doubt collapsing under the weight of emotion. He called for Catalina, asking her to bring them some tea when she appeared. He added a generous glug of summoned whiskey to Remus' cup when it arrived, remembering that it was supposedly something done for people in shock. Harry didn't particularly like tea, but drank his own to give his tutor time and demonstrate his willingness to be patient. Remus sipped slowly, face turned away from Harry, who still had a comforting arm draped around his shoulders.

"I'll go to the meeting." He said finally.

"No, you won't." Harry said firmly, privately relieved that Remus was able to speak coherently, if not sensibly.

Remus faced him at last. "But you can't," he replied desperately.

"Why not?"

"He might try to kill you."

"Or you." Harry pointed out. "I'm going. Besides, if you come, I doubt any sane conversation is going to be possible."

"What?" Remus replied, yelping again, "You can't mean to go alone? He's dangerous Harry!"

"And possibly innocent, apparently." He returned calmly. "I hold most of the cards here; I decide where the meeting is, and who goes to it, seeing as he'll almost certainly be alone. It's only my blood being required to send a response that gives him much security. I wanted your opinion, your advice, on this, but if I'm not convinced you're being rational then I'll just ignore it."

Remus stilled, taking a few moments in an effort to compose himself. "It looks like his hand," he began, "but are we sure it is from him?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the forcedly obvious attempt to demonstrate a logical approach. "He used, as he mentions, a blood spell to get the letter through the wards. It'd have to be a fairly close relation, and a magical one, to manage that. As you know, I'm rather short of those. It'd be a pretty weak attempt from someone else to lure me out of hiding, anyway."

Remus nodded slowly.

"Anyway, I hate to ask you this, but you knew him. Are you inclined to believe what he says in the letter?"

Remus sighed, head falling into hand for a few moments before he answered. "Yes." He replied simply. "His story makes sense. I knew him for more than a decade, and the one thing I could never imagine him doing is betraying his friends." Head returned to hand. "Oh, Merlin," he moaned suddenly. "Don't you see? _I've_ betrayed _him."_

"Quite probably." Harry replied sharply.

Remus jerked upright, no doubt instinctively expecting sympathy in spite of his self-absorbed misery, and eyed Harry with surprise.

"What? Did you expect me to immediately give you a hug and consider everything forgiven when there's a possibility that your lack of faith in your best friend might have subjected my godfather to Azkaban for twelve years?" Remus' face crumpled as he spoke.

Harry mollified his harsh expression somewhat, extending a hand to hold the one in Remus' lap. "I love you." He began, "But if all of this is true then I'm upset with you."

Remus nodded miserably. "Not as upset as I am with myself. "

Harry held his hand, but otherwise kept his distance, caught between anger and compassion. They sat like that for a long while.

"Anyway," began Harry, breaking the tense silence and forcing himself to sound cheerful, "I'll write back to him and arrange a meeting, and then show you my other letters. We can drop off the reply at the owl station when we go into the city this afternoon."

Remus nodded mutely, apparently having given up fighting whilst still distraught.

"Excellent," Harry continued, summoning a fountain pen and some parchment from the writing desk against the far wall. He murmured a charm to copy the text of the letter onto the parchment before pricking a finger, this time with magic, and letting a drop of blood fall onto the page, which cleared instantly.

He spent a moment pondering the method of address, finally beginning ' _Dear Sirius Black,'._

 _I am unsure as to whether I can believe your words or not, despite a perhaps natural desire to. I would be glad of the opportunity to meet with you, whether it be to welcome and grieve with, and help to heal, a long-lost godfather, or personally destroy the betrayer of my parents._

 _August 2_ _nd_ _, Gringotts Headquarters, Zurich. 10 AM, local time._

 _Harry Potter_

He then copied that letter over onto the parchment too, for Remus to look over later.

* * *

He rose and took the papers through to his room, dropping them on the desk before changing his clothes. "I'm going for a run," he called to Remus as he slipped on a pair of shoes. He'd decided he needed to clear his head, and give Remus some time alone, before tackling the rest of his correspondence.

He took the lift straight down, and grinned at the doorman as he exited the marble lobby, jogging down the steps and out onto the streets of muggle Lima. They'd been in the city since the beginning of May. They moved several times a year for his Aunt's job, and in an effort to help preserve his own anonymity. He liked Lima; the culture and the food and the architecture, even if it tended to be slightly cool around this time of year, and although it was uncomfortably humid in the early mornings, which forced him to go running either before dawn or later on in the day.

Harry loved that both the magical and muggle sides of the city were as vivid and varied as one another, although his interaction with the magical was, by necessity, somewhat limited. He ran from the San Isidro district and up into what locals called 'El Centro', where the old colonial centre of the city stood.

The weather was comfortable enough for now, at least. The streets and plazas were full of people, both locals and tourists, by this time on a Sunday morning, as the churches emptied out their worshippers.

Harry mentally counted off the twelve miles of what had become his usual route, and arrived back at the flat to find Remus standing, hands loosely clasped behind back, in front of the plate glass wall of the living room. He turned around slowly when he heard Harry come in.

"Can I see your response to Sirius?" He asked quietly.

Harry looked up from where he was taking off his running shoes. "Sure, you can also see the letters from Gringotts and BumbleDumble."

Remus nodded, crossing the room to sit back on a sofa, sipping slowly at his refilled cup of tea.

"I'll just change," Harry continued cheerfully as he walked along the corridor to his own room. He rushed through his second shower of the morning, towelled himself dry (self-drying charms were notoriously unreliable), and buttoned on the jeans and shirt from earlier.

He found Remus still in the same position when he rejoined him. He wordlessly passed him his response, and was glad to see Remus' impressed nod of approval when he reached his chosen meeting place.

"You're sure you can arrange to meet him there in time?"

Harry grinned at him. "I'll try to fly out this evening or early tomorrow morning, and if I can't get a commercial flight in time it'll be easy enough to charter."

"I meant getting the goblins to agree."

Harry smirked slightly. "Lots of people have their shady meetings there; Gringotts Headquarters isn't just in Switzerland for rich wizards to stash their wealth and illegal knick-knacks untraceably." He went back to a grin. "Besides, when I rock up and prove who I am then I'm sure they'll be only too happy to provide me with a room for an hour or so, bearing in mind what a _valued_ customer I've suddenly become."

Remus rolled his eyes, though couldn't help but smile slightly. "Can I see the letter from Gringotts?" Harry nodded, handing over Bronzeclaw's covering note. He'd left the list of assets locked in a draw, preferring to keep them private.

He was handed the paper back after a couple of minutes. "I've never seen a goblin come up with platitudes before," Remus mused, before his face darkened. "Not that a werewolf's allowed to have much in the way of dealings with Gringotts normally. Some of the older, richer packs are supposed to have vaults in Zurich."

"Maybe that can be changed," said Harry quietly, "it's the ICW, after all, stopping werewolves banking. I suspect the goblins themselves would just be glad of more customers."

Remus didn't look hopeful, but cleared his expression quickly enough. "Let's see what Dumbledore has to say to you now," he sighed.

Harry passed him the parchments. "The first one's a concealed magical contract, the bottom of the second's been dipped in a compulsion potion." He said, knowing that his tutor wasn't powerful enough to detect their presence without diagnostic spells. "So, as long as you don't sign that one you're safe, seeing as the compulsion will only really have much effect on the addressee."

Remus frowned deeply and cursed softly under his breath at these new tactics. Harry ignored his response.

"I like the offers of help and friendship," he said sardonically. "He's much chattier in this one than he's been before, although he must be getting desperate to be using illegal methods that can so easily be traced back to him."

Remus nodded slowly. "You're right, he must be worried," he agreed.

"I think I will go to Hogwarts this year," Harry continued casually.

Remus actually dropped the letter in his shock as his head snapped round to face him. "No!" he exclaimed, managing to make even that one syllable sound strangled.

Harry waited a few moments, picking up the dropped parchment to give Remus time, before speaking. "We've discussed this," he began, "I have responsibilities in England; if what Sirius claims is correct then I'm now _two_ of The Twenty. We all agreed that I'd have to wait until at least I inherited to go back, and I'm fourteen now. I can handle Dumbledore." He continued confidently. "I'm brilliant, really fucking brilliant, and I want to test myself at last. We don't really know what's happening, and we're not going to find out on the run."

Remus didn't look convinced at all by this, so Harry decided to change tactics.

"Look," he began earnestly. "I love you and Aunt Mim, and I've had an incredible time travelling the world for all of these years, but I crave some stability. I want to be able to live in the same place for more than a few months, to call somewhere home. I need to build a life of my own, have friends who I can see in person, and who know me for who I am, rather than just ones I can write to occasionally."

"It's not safe." Remus said softly.

"Life isn't." Harry responded sharply, "Particularly not mine. The Potter titles and inheritance should give me nearly as much security as the Evans money does in the muggle world, even with the prospect of a war and a Dumbledore."

Remus lowered his head slowly, knowing it was no use arguing with Harry when he was like this.

"Besides," Harry continued, hammering another nail into the coffin of Remus' flight instinct, "I suspect I can't give Sirius the formal asylum he needs without claiming the Black inheritance, and actually being in England to protect him."

Any remaining defences crumbled at the prospect of abandoning the man who had been his friend once again.

Harry saw he had won, and felt a distant satisfaction, but no triumph. "You don't have to come with me, of course," he began, "and I would never try to make you. I can give you all of the money you'd need to live comfortably for the rest of your life, wherever you choose." He smiled gently, and continued jokingly, "You can be free of me at last. You keep saying that I'm intolerable."

Remus suddenly hugged him. "I'm not going to abandon you Harry, _never;_ it looks like I've made that mistake once already. I'm with you." He breathed desperately into Harry's ear.

Harry returned the hug and smiled at Remus. "Thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

 _-_ II-

A car arrived just after midday to take Harry to the restaurant, an address his Aunt had texted him. He smiled internally as he got out, thanking the driver, when he saw that it was French. Aunt Mim had started complaining about the local cuisine a couple of weeks previously, and was now patronising only European establishments. Thankfully Catalina was classically trained, and versatile enough to be able to respond to his Aunt's whims.

He gave his name to the Maître'd , who guided him to a corner table absent of Aunt, but generously stocked with water and selection of fresh bread. He'd just finished buttering a roll when his Aunt turned up with her usual buzz of activity; handing off a coat to one attendant whilst ordering a glass of white wine from another and talking into her mobile.

She smiled at him as she sat, finishing her call and dropping handbag onto the ground beside her. "Sorry about that," she apologised smoothly, "it's been frantic this morning."

"It doesn't show," Harry assured, smiling at her as he offered the bread.

"Thanks. How's your morning been?"

"Busy."

She raised an elegant eyebrow at him, the only concession she would make to curiosity.

Harry elaborated, deciding not to play games with his Aunt when the conversation was going to be so important. She had given him space that morning, not inquiring about the letters she knew him to be expecting, knowing that he preferred to think and make his decisions in private.

"Did you know I have a magical godfather?" he asked curiously.

Her eyes widened marginally, but she shook her head. "When I received the letter Lily and your father had put in trust for me it made no mention of any other prospective guardians; I mean, you've read it yourself. I know they didn't want you with Petunia," her voice dripped with distaste as she mentioned her cousin, "but you know they feared that's who Dumbledore would leave you with, and why they made alternative arrangements. Who is this godfather anyway?" She asked.

"Sirius Black." Harry said succinctly.

Twenty years of courtroom imperturbability proved insufficient to mask his Aunt's shock at the name. She practically hissed, as she actually had when Remus had told her and Harry of his betrayal.

Harry himself was wishing that he didn't have to go through all of this again, although at least Aunt Mim had less personal involvement than Remus. He'd just begun explaining when a waiter came over to take their order. His Aunt frowned at him when she caught him admiring the man as he walked away.

Dragging himself away from the view and back to his story, Harry wordlessly put up silencing wards and a muggle repelling charm that would keep the staff away for the time being. He passed a copy of the letter to his Aunt, who scanned it rapidly, quick mind assimilating information.

She raised her head to look at him. "You believe this?"

He shrugged faintly. "I think Remus does, and I'm inclined to. It doesn't make much sense for it not to be true, in my opinion."

She nodded after a moment. "I agree. I take it you want to go and meet him?" Harry wordlessly handed over the response he intended to send. She pursed her lips. "I'll come with you." She said.

Harry smiled at her, glad of the company, knowing she could be trusted to keep her head, something he couldn't believe of Remus, and knowing that she would let him take the lead in talking, and give them privacy if needed. She was protective of her adopted son, but by and large accepted his independence.

"I take it you intend to return to England then?" She asked, only a faint trace of resignation discernible.

Harry nodded at her, internally amused at how much more quickly she was connecting dots than Remus. "I'll be going to Hogwarts and joining the magical world. I think Remus intends to stay with me, but I have no idea what you want to do, and I would never ask you to leave your job or abandon your life for me."

She looked at him consideringly. "I've had several months to contemplate this, and now that you've made your decision I can make mine. I've been doing this for a decade now; I can easily negotiate a promotion, which would let me work from London for most of the year. It'd mean some travelling, but normally only to The Hague. I understand you're effectively emancipated now, and will be away at boarding school for most of the year, but I want to be there for you if and when you need me."

Harry grinned at her blindingly, and stood to go around the table and hug her. She clasped him back firmly, emotion making her unusually affectionate in public. "I love you."

She pulled back slightly and looked at him. "I love you too." She replied, smiling.

Harry went and sat back down, casually waving a hand to dispel the wards as he did.

"So," he continued cheerfully, "a seat on the board, Madame Director."

She would have rolled her eyes at him if it weren't so undignified. "Yes, and lots of meetings with boring old men."

He smiled sweetly. "You could find yourself a sugar daddy."

Despite knowing him and being used to his outrageous statements, she choked slightly on her wine.

"I'm wealthier than any of them."

"You could be their sugar daughter?"

She grimaced faintly, but was prevented from responding by the handsome waiter returning with their food, and another bottle of sparkling water for Harry. She actually did roll her eyes when Harry winked at the waiter as a steak was placed in front of him.

"He blushed," Harry said to her in a stage whisper, with the unfortunate waiter still well within earshot.

"Stop terrorising the staff." she told him firmly, as she began to eat her turbot.

"He liked it," he responded defensively.

"Why did I have to have a child that grew up so fast?"

"You'd be a terrible mother for a stupid child." He said bluntly. "Anyway, you did have a choice..." he pointed out.

She snorted faintly. "I had a letter released by your parents' solicitors a year after they died which told me that if I didn't agree to take care of you then you would probably spend your entire childhood suffering abuse at the hands of my horsey cousin and her whale of a husband."

Harry sobered. "Thank Merlin you agreed to, and managed to get me away without Dumbledore finding out. I couldn't be more grateful to you for that."

"There's no need for gratitude; I've been your de facto mother for more than a decade, and I love you as if you were my own son." She said firmly.

He smiled at her emotionally, returning to his meal before either of them got too overwrought.

"The letters from Dumbledore and Gringotts arrived, and were as expected?" She asked after a few mouthfuls.

"They did, and they were." He replied, deciding not to let his Aunt know about Dumbledore's change of tactics; although he trusted her, he didn't want to cause her unnecessary worry.

She nodded, and they chatted inconsequentially for the rest of the meal. Harry grinned internally when the waiter refused to look at him as his Aunt dealt with the bill, but noticed him staring after them as they left. There were a couple of cars already waiting for them as they stepped out of the restaurant and onto the pavement.

Aunt Mim hugged Harry briefly before saying her farewells, telling him to arrange the flight, and that she would be available from that evening. Harry watched for a moment as her car disappeared into the traffic at the end of the street, before getting into his own.

He called the FBO on the way back to the flat and managed to get a Gulfstream for takeoff around eleven that evening, not bothering to check any commercial flights now that he knew his Aunt was coming too.

* * *

Harry decided he'd better write back to Dumbledore when he got back, and after making sure Remus was still sober and apparently sane, he curled up in the living area, resting his parchment on the arm of a sofa. He decided someone with handwriting like Dumbledore's would appreciate flowery language.

 _Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

 _I must express my profoundest thanks for your kind concern with regard to my living situation, but would like to offer my reassurances that I have experienced a safe and comfortable childhood. I am glad of the opportunity to write back to you after several years of a rather one-sided correspondence._

 _With regard to your invitation, I would be delighted to accept your offer of a place at Hogwarts, for I have always desired to receive an education where my parents earned their own. Before taking up my place, however, I would appreciate the opportunity to meet with you personally, so that we might discuss certain matters face to face._

 _Unfortunately, normal owls are likely to find me inaccessible, a problem you mentioned encountering in your last missive. I appreciate that you are yourself an extremely busy man, and hold several positions of a hugely important and time-consuming nature in the Wizarding world, but the necessities of our communication persuade me to name a time and place, and pray that you find them convenient._

 _Yours faithfully,_

 _Harry James Potter_

Harry gave the name of a muggle restaurant in Zurich he'd found online at the bottom of the page, and, after a moment's thought, asked Dumbledore to meet him there at lunchtime on the 13th of August.

He took another sheet of parchment and began writing to Bronzeclaw.

 _Dear Bronzeclaw, Mighty Chief of the Harak Clan_ (he'd checked the proper courtesies, as well as Bronzeclaw's position within the Goblin Nations, in a book he'd skim read but hadn't bothered to fully memorise. Brevity was the keyword hereon-in)

 _I would like to arrange a private meeting with you or one of your colleagues with regard to my inheritance. I will arrive at the bank's Zurich branch at eight on the morning of the 2_ _nd_ _, and would appreciate the presence of someone with sufficient authority to deal fully with. Following my proposed meeting I ask for a conference room to be provided where I might conduct a personal meeting of my own between the hours of ten and eleven._

 _Many thanks,_

 _Harry James Potter_

He scanned his two responses briefly before nodding internally and summoning a pair of heavy gauge parchment envelopes. He sealed and addressed them to their recipients before folding his reply to Sirius with the same charm that had been used on it before. He slid the pile into the slightly magically expanded pocket of his jeans before getting up to find Remus.

A quarter of an hour later they walked together through the huge mirror at the back of a hotel lobby that comprised the muggle entrance into the magical part of Lima. He dragged his companion to the owl station first, where Harry paid for three international deliveries, and watched as the lady behind the counter selected the owls to go into the vanishing cabinet that would take them to the main office in Europe, which happened to be in London, and thus made the flight time comparatively brief.

They walked on down the city's main street, both Harry and Remus safe under facial glamours that would look completely natural but only last a couple of hours. The risk was pretty low anyway, but Harry did bear a vague resemblance to his father, and had his mother's hugely recognisable eyes, whilst Remus had a quarter of a century's worth of potential acquaintances at risk of recognising him, no matter how slim the chance of any of them being in Peru that afternoon.

They spent an hour wandering around bookshops, buying few, given the comprehensive nature of their existing collection, before Harry decided to go into a Quidditch supplier, and admire the display model of a Firebolt in the window.

"I think I'll get one of these to take to Hogwarts." He said to Remus, who had followed him in grudgingly; he had had little interest in flying when it was James and Sirius playing, and couldn't honestly say that his curiosity had developed with age.

"Are you really sure you'll be good?" He asked Harry.

"Yup." Came the confident reply. "Even better than my father."

Remus raised an eyebrow slightly at this, but chose not to question his pupil's claim, despite not being aware of him having any experience at all on a broomstick.

"We'd better get back to the flat." He told Harry. "The glamours will start to wear off soon."

Harry nodded reluctantly before following him back out onto the teeming street outside, packed with a huge variety of wizards from all over South America; Lima was the continent's major Wizarding settlement. Thankfully there were enough Europeans amongst the crowd that Harry and Remus' glamoured appearances passed relatively unremarked.

Remus sighed when they got back to their temporary 'home'. "I take it Miriam's going to Switzerland with you?" He asked.

"She is. We'll probably be back here by the fourth, though." He smiled. "She's going to come with us and work from London. To be honest, I think she's as tired of the nomadic life as I am in some ways. I feel guilty in spite of her doing this sort of thing even before I was foisted on her. I get the impression she's delayed taking promotion for my sake."

Remus, who was less restrained than Aunt Mim, openly rolled his eyes at Harry. "She loves her job; the travel, the excitement, the headlines and attention. She might want to settle down now somewhat, but she wouldn't have preferred to spend her life with you any other way." He reassured hastily.

"That's exactly what she says, but I still don't like the fact that my presence made regular moves a necessity, rather than a choice."

Remus shrugged. "She tends to decide where we go; she chases the big cases. Anyway, it's not as if we've ever ended up in the wilderness. We've always lived in big, developed cities, most of which have had magical populations."

Harry nodded reluctantly, before turning his mind away from his guardian's life choices. "After we come back I reckon it'll take Aunt Mim another couple of weeks to clear up her business here. She's got the convictions she wanted, and she never liked hanging around to finish up the paperwork. She's got lackeys to do all that for her. I think I'll go to England next Monday, reliant on me managing to sort everything out with Gringotts in Zurich. You're welcome to come over with either of us, of course, or whenever you want to if you don't mind travelling alone."

Remus shuddered at the prospect of getting in one of the muggle flying machines without anyone to sit beside and reassure him. It was a fear he had never managed to get over, despite frequent trips on them, and the prodding influence of Harry finding Remus' terror highly amusing. At least he was understanding about it with regard to travel arrangements, thought Remus with faint relief.

"I think I'll come over with you," he said to Harry, who had been waiting patiently for a response. "It's not like there's much to keep me here, and I'd like to have as much time as possible to get settled before you start at school."

"Worried about the stability of my home life?" Harry replied in an amused voice.

"I want to be there for you as much as possible." He said solidly.

Harry's expression softened and he came over to hug Remus warmly. "You always have been, old friend."

Harry's packing had gone pretty smoothly, what with only needing three days worth of clothes, and having magically expanded his muggle luggage so that everything he needed for the trip fitted, unwrinkled, into a single, sleek holdall.

He debated internally for a moment before deciding to pack for his Aunt as well. She hadn't let him expand her own luggage set, and that, coupled with his not being entirely sure exactly what she would want, meant he had to pack a couple of cases for her. He rang the company they'd been using for transport and requested a car for ten that evening, before levitating the luggage into the entrance hall and returning to his room.

He spent two hours lying back in bed, reading a massive book on obscure Legilimency techniques that the tutor Remus had found for him in Germany years ago had sent to him. Alexander Fleischer was an obsessive academic, and had thankfully been far more interested in Harry's head than the identity he would have inevitably uncovered whilst tutoring him. He was one of the world's leading experts in the Magical Mind Arts, as he called them, and it had taken Remus the best part of two months, as well as the revelation of Harry's identity, to get him to agree to teach him. Thankfully Harry had been sufficiently skilled to keep the man's attention, even fascinating enough to the professor that he'd tried to refuse payment for his services.

It had been Fleischer who had found the partially-complete horcrux in Harry's scar, and in doing so provided them with practically irrefutable evidence of Voldemort's survival, and the probable reason for Dumbledore's locking Harry away with magic-hating muggles. Thankfully the horcrux's tenuous tether; apparently it was a fundamentally unsound idea to attach one to another living being, coupled with the fact that the final creation rites remained unfinished meant that a fairly simple blood ritual, conducted by Professor Fleischer, had been sufficient to bind the soul fragment to a piece of Manganese-52.

One of the professor's more brilliant pieces of deductive reasoning had hypothesised that the natural decay of the radioactive material would eventually harmlessly disperse the piece of soul, as long as it was bound to it in the correct way. The professor's idea seemed to have been correct, and the five and a half day half life of the metal meant that within a year the piece of Voldemort had been torn into infinitesimally small, non-resurectable, pieces. Fleischer had been delighted with the success of his experiment, and had eagerly tutored Harry in the mind arts for several months after that. Harry felt slightly more mixed emotions, but was nonetheless glad to know how the much-rumoured continued existence of the Dark Lord might have been achieved.

Harry dropped the enormous leather-bound tome onto his right hand bedside table and got up to relieve himself before going through to the flat's main area, where he found Catalina busy making dinner in the kitchen area and Remus sitting in the living area with a book and tumbler of whiskey.

"Aunt Mim not back yet?" he asked after greeting Catalina.

"No, Mister Harry. You should not let her work so hard," she said reprovingly.

"You think I haven't tried? Anyway, I should tell you that we're going to be moving to England soon."

Catalina looked sad, but nodded. "I am sorry you must leave, Mister Harry."

He smiled at her. "We're all going to miss you too, and your cooking."

She chuckled slightly before returning to the stove.

Harry left her to it and went to join Remus in the living area, dropping himself casually into the man's lap. Remus yelped slightly, moving his book out of the way. Harry grinned at him.

"What do you want?" He asked suspiciously.

"Do I need to want anything more than a hug from my favourite teacher and mentor?" Harry asked innocently.

"No, but you almost certainly do."

"Well," Harry said reasonably, "it is my birthday."

Remus rolled his eyes again. "Presents after dinner, as usual," he said.

"No clues?" Harry wheedled.

Remus shook his head, and gently pushed Harry off his lap as he returned to his reading.

Harry didn't have long to pout, however, as his Aunt returned shortly after this rejection.

"The car will be here at ten," he said as soon as she'd stepped out of her heels and fetched herself a dry Martini. She raised an eyebrow at his efficiency.

"I'll pack after I've changed then."

"Already done," Harry said.

The eyebrow went back up. "You've packed for me?"

"Yup, didn't you see the cases in the hall?"

"I fear my subconscious wanted me to ignore them." She said drily.

Harry snorted. "No need to be rude. Anyway, you can trust me, but if you want to take a fur coat it'll have to go with you loose."

She smiled at him slightly and nodded, before disappearing to change.

They settled down to eat at the dining table, Harry inviting Catalina to sit with them. The food was delicious despite Aunt Mim's restricting edicts; creamy seafood pasta followed by tiramisu. The conversation was light as they discussed their time in the city.

After they'd finished eating, and Catalina had cleared away the plates and left, Harry, Aunt Mim and Remus moved into the living area for presents. Well, as it turned out, one present, because his Aunt said she wanted to give him hers on the plane. Remus presented him with a handwritten tome he'd had beautifully bound in calfskin, and in which he'd written everything he knew about werewolves, from thirty years of being one.

"There's information in there which the packs wouldn't like any human having." Remus warned him. "But I wanted you to know as much about us as possible."

Harry's eyes teared up slightly at Remus' presenting him with something so personal; of him being trusted with information that could get Remus killed if it were ever to come out that he'd given it away. He was extremely unusual in being a werewolf without a pack, but who was mentally stable and had knowledge of the way they worked and operated. The book would be worth its weight in gold to many; both those with an academic interest, and others, who hated them with a passion.

They sat companionably after Harry had thanked Remus, Aunt Mim making a couple of final calls before they left.

* * *

They said their farewells when the doorman rang up to tell them the car had arrived, before going down to the lobby. It took about half an hour to reach the charter airport, the driver rolling straight out onto the runway at his Aunt's instruction.

They were greeted by the Captain whilst his First Officer took their luggage on board. Thankfully the man who ran the charter company knew his Aunt, and had been happy to take a booking from a fourteen year old. They were in the air fairly shortly afterwards, settled into the comfortable leather chairs as they watched the lights of Lima disappearing into the night. They'd need to refuel in Portugal, but the pilot didn't anticipate much turbulence.

Aunt Mim finally addressed Harry. "I didn't want to tell you about my present in front of Remus because that rather defeats its point." At this she picked up the slim attaché case she'd brought with her, opening it on the table between them. She took out a sheaf of papers, handing them wordlessly to him.

Harry's eyes widened as he looked at the photos. He looked back up at her. "I don't know what to say, except thank you. It's gorgeous." He paused. "But why couldn't you tell me about this in front of Remus?" He asked curiously.

His Aunt smiled at him. She shrugged. "Between us the Potters and the Evans have got properties just about everywhere else in Europe, but we've had them for a long time. The ownership of the muggle properties is comparatively in the public domain, although I have little idea about the magical ones. This house should be effectively untraceable to you, although it is yours. I got my contacts to drag the finances through a large number of foreign holding companies and offshore accounts." She smiled again. "I thought you might appreciate having a safe haven in the muggle world, and I know how much you loved Istanbul anyway, so at any rate you have somewhere you can stay when you visit."

He grinned blindingly at her, before getting up to give her a hug.

"You're very affectionate today," she said amusedly.

"I'm just happy." He replied. "And excited," he added.

She smiled. "I'm sorry we never do much on you birthdays," she apologised, "but when we settle down in England we can celebrate them properly."

He shrugged at her. "It's my decision not to do anything special. I just don't want it to all seem forced, as it would with just the three of us, well, four with Catalina. Besides, we don't do any more for your and Remus' birthdays." He said logically.

She accepted this mutely before reclining her chair to sleep.

Harry was too awake to follow her, and spent the next few hours staring absently out of the window at the stars and contemplating his new life. He would actually be able to make friends, hopefully, with whom he could have more than the careful correspondence he was currently limited to with those he had made, and been forced to abandon, around the world. He considered idly that he might even find a boyfriend, well, if anyone was willing to get that close to him when they realised how much danger he was likely to attract.

He sighed quietly before forcing himself off into sleep.

He woke just after the plane took off out of Lisbon, to find his Aunt typing serenely away on her laptop.

"Morning," she said absently, "two hours until we land in Zurich."

He nodded, and went into the small bathroom at the rear of the plane to rinse his face and brush his teeth, admiring himself in the mirror for a moment afterwards before returning to the main cabin.

He returned to his seat quietly, slipping his own laptop from the sleeve that protected it from ambient magic most of the time. He'd managed to scan a large number of the books he and Remus had collected on their travels onto the computer, carefully filing them by subject.

He'd also separated off some of the ones that magical authorities might consider more 'questionable', including a number that even Remus didn't know about.

He read voraciously, and his memory was thankfully sufficient for him to remember almost everything word for word, as long as he'd concentrated on it in the first place. He drew out a fountain pen and sheet of parchment from his holdall, jotting down the classes he'd decided to take at Hogwarts, to give to Dumbledore when they met. He wondered whether he could go to one of the countries less restrictive of the Dark Arts to be examined in the subjects that most European ministries had banned, but decided to worry about that closer to the time.

He hadn't booked a hotel because he knew that his Aunt preferred to choose her own, and that it was something she would already have arranged that morning before he woke; his Aunt always rose early and her own comfort was important to her.

He read a couple of chapters of a book on Amerindian tribal rituals before deciding to catch up with the Daily Prophets he hadn't managed to read over the last few days. Having a subscription to a British paper whilst living in Peru meant that a whole week's worth was delivered at one time, and with the most recent still a day behind events.

He was caught up with happenings, though few of them actually interesting, by the time the plane touched down. They got off down onto the tarmac, his Aunt giving the Captain and his First Officer their thanks and a day off, but requesting that they stay on call after that, not wanting to take any chances with when they might want to leave. A car came past the barriers and drew up beside them as soon as they'd alighted.

They were driven to a hotel in the centre of the muggle city, where his Aunt had taken the largest suite available. They were both fluent in French, which endeared them to an efficient staff, who were apparently used to foreign bankers shouting at them in English.

The suite was tasteful, and enormous. Their temporary butler proudly showed them the panic room, and earnestly assured them that all of the floor-to-ceiling windows were bullet proof, apparently convinced that being shot at from the roof of a neighbouring building was their major concern. Harry laughed internally as his Aunt nodded patiently at the man, before dismissing him to bring them lunch; they'd only managed a continental breakfast on the plane.

Harry agreed that his Aunt would come with him to the initial meeting at Gringotts. She'd never met a goblin, but had considerable financial experience to support Harry with if necessary. She would give him some time alone to meet with Sirius once they were both convinced of his sincerity, and then return with him. Aunt Mim was completely accepting of the wizarding world, as any member of the Evans family had almost had to be. Petunia was the exception to that particular rule.

"I'm going to have to abandon you after lunch, I'm afraid," Aunt Mim began, once they'd sat themselves down.

"I suspect I'll manage. What d'you need to do?" He asked.

"I confess I had a slightly ulterior motive to flying out here with you. The chairman's coming down from The Hague to talk to me about a seat on the board."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "They must really want to keep you if he's prepared to drop everything at such short notice."

She smiled wryly. "Oh, they're not letting go of me, that's for sure. I suspect I can demand whatever I want from them to be honest, they've been badgering me about promotion for ages, and my working from London is hardly going to strain resources."

"So what will you actually do?" He asked curiously.

"Attend meetings a lot of the time, coordinate prosecutors. I'm most likely to be managing people doing what I have, giving them cases and so on. Luckily I'm probably going to be able to escape most of the spreadsheet work, as accountants are already unfairly represented on the board. I might be able to take some cases on at the courts in London, but I can pick and choose those."

Harry snorted. "You've been picking and choosing for years. The board's never been able to refuse you anything."

She smiled. "I'm good. They know it. They also know that I'm independently wealthy and that they need me more than I do them."

"So it won't be long before I'm reading about you in the British muggle headlines, I take it?"

"Probably not." She grimaced slightly. "They'll want to make something of my new appointment. It'll be good PR to help the tribunal move on from that ridiculous scandal."

Harry's eyes widened innocently. "You mean the chairman w _asn't_ sleeping with that neo-Nazi sympathiser?"

It was her turn to snort. "Of course he was, but to all accounts the girl is actually rather sweet, and her convictions were certainly not as deeply held as they were made out to be. God, I hate the press, mindlessly tarnishing the reputations of their betters."

"You love the press," Harry contradicted amusedly. "You get off on the buzz, the credit, the idea that what you do actually _matters_ to people." He grinned. "It's quite sweet really. Part idealistic, and part attention-seeking."

She mock growled at him. "I am not attention-seeking." She said vehemently.

He smiled, but refrained from responding as the butler came back with a trolley full of a selection of salads and waters.

"You know, I might be more inclined to believe that of you if it weren't for the constant supermodel diet."

"You're nearly as vain as I am. You just have the advantage of a young, male metabolism."

"I also go to the gym, train, and run almost every day," he pointed out.

"You have the time to," she grumbled back.

He changed the subject. "I think I'll explore the city this afternoon," he decided.

"Fine. You have fun while I'm stuck in an office with a stuffy old man."

"You're going to need to work on that attitude if you're to work more closely with him."

She smiled pleasantly. "I'm sure I'll manage."

They parted ways after lunch, and Harry spent the day wandering around Zurich, enjoying the crisp air and clean streets. The locals all seemed friendly enough, if a bit self-absorbed. He found the muggle entrance into the magical part of the city pretty quickly.

Ultimately, he didn't end up actually doing much; too caught up by the prospect of his meetings the following day to fully concentrate on his surroundings. He and his Aunt, whose meeting with the Chairman appeared to have gone well, had dinner in a quiet corner of the hotel restaurant before retiring to bed. Harry was only thankful that Occlumency allowed him to bring on sleep fairly easily; he had never mastered his Aunt's knack of being able to power nap for a few minutes, seemingly at will. At least the bed was comfortable.


	3. Chapter 3

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-III-

Harry drew on a suit the following morning; one of the ones he had for attending particularly formal events or restaurants with his Aunt. _Sharp, grey, expensive. Exactly the sort of thing to meet a banker in,_ he thought, satisfied. Taking an overcoat from his bag, having predicted correctly that Switzerland would feel uncomfortably cool after Peru, he walked out of the room to find his Aunt already seated at the breakfast table.

She looked up from her phone as he sat opposite her. "Morning," came the smiled greeting, which he returned before helping himself to fruit and cereal.

"You know where we're going?" She asked once he was settled.

Harry nodded. "I found the entrance to the wizarding part of the city yesterday. It's in a hotel nearby, and from there it'll be easy enough to find Gringotts."

"Will you glamour yourself?" She asked, familiar with many magical terms.

He nodded again. "I'll wear one until we're at the bank itself. I can take it off in front of the goblins, they can see through most anyway, and the building will have enchantments to strip others."

His Aunt checked her watch. "You said we were to be there for eight?"

"I did. I take it you've had a car waiting?"

She nodded before rising, slipping phone into her bag before walking to the lift with Harry. The car journey was short, Harry taking the time to apply his glamour, before taking his Aunt's hand as they stepped into the revolving door at the front of the hotel. They went around once completely, Harry letting a bit of his magic out from behind his usual barriers for the entryway to detect. The world outside the circle of glass and brass whirled and became formless light, before rendering a moment later and letting them step out onto a street as pristine as the muggle ones they had come from. Magical Zurich seemed to be fairly small, at least in comparison to some of the places they'd been.

That seemed logical, Harry thought, when it wasn't a formally 'governed' settlement; but rather something more amorphous that had grown up around the Gringotts headquarters being located there. He'd been right, Harry thought wryly, when he'd said the bank would be easy to find. Directly across the street from them was a huge construction of marble and steel, enormous letters above double doors confirming it to be their destination.

They went straight in, two suited goblins holding the doors open for them. Harry felt the prickle of magic scanning them for hidden weapons. He let his glamour drop when he felt it being prodded at gently.

A second pair of goblins opened another set of doors. Harry was relieved his Aunt had come with Remus and him a few times when they visited magical settlements, and that she appeared completely unfazed by the goblins. They entered a large hall full of rows of desks where dozens of suited goblins worked busily.

Before Harry had a chance to see any more they were accosted by a one who had, apparently, been waiting for them.

"Lord Potter?" Said the small, smartly dressed figure, inclining his head slightly.

Harry smiled at him. "I am, and this is my Aunt, Miriam Evans."

The goblin eyed her with faint curiosity. "Of course. My name is Flintnose. I've been sent to take you to the Directors."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the plural, but followed Flintnose silently as he took them through the heavy doors at the end of the hall, up a broad flight of stairs, and into a large boardroom, where a pair of goblins rose from their seats to greet them.

The first stepped forwards, exchanging a firm handshake with Harry, and then with his aunt. "Glad to meet you Lord Potter, and to welcome you to Gringotts. I'm Director Ironstone."

Harry concealed his surprise as he introduced his aunt, but he supposed it wasn't that shocking for the Chairman of Gringotts to be there when it was 'his' branch he was visiting. The second goblin greeted him with a toothy grin. "Director Bronzeclaw. I was gratified to receive such a rapid and well-phrased response to my letter."

Harry inclined his head. "I was equally impressed by your efficiency in writing to me. Your list of my holdings was also most comprehensive, and cogently organised."

Bronzeclaw nodded, accepting such recognition of financial rigour as his due. Ironstone guided them towards the table, where they sat around one curved end.

"I will begin," Ironstone started, "and then I can leave you with Bronzeclaw to conduct what business you have with him in private. The meeting room you requested, Lord Potter, has been arranged, and Flintnose will guide you there once your business has been conducted."

"I am grateful that one as mighty as you would set aside time to make such arrangements."

A smile flickered briefly on the Chairman's face.

"You, in addition to your London holdings, have a vault here in Switzerland. I believe it to consist contingency funds set aside by your family in case of emergency. All vaults here are rented, by necessity, so that we can keep the funds immediately available," He paused for a moment, "and to pay for the labour of making them untraceable. The rate for you will be minimal, as a long-term holder who has been deemed a low-risk to the bank."

"Thank you for informing me. I would have inquired about setting up such an arrangement here anyway. There is no one I would trust more with the guardianship of my wealth than you, _Bol-Dek."_ He carefully used the gobbledegook for 'Great-Leader'- the term of address used by goblins amongst themselves for the Chief of the Thirteen clans.

Ironstone blinked at him before inclining his head slightly.

"It has been... interesting to meet you, Lord Potter. I look forward to hearing of your exploits as you rejoin the wizarding world."

He rose, the others following him up as a mark of respect. A pair of goblins held open the doors for him automatically as he marched out.

Harry sat back down to find Bronzeclaw surveying him assessingly. "You impressed him. I cannot remember the last time a human managed that, Lord Potter."

Harry smiled charmingly. "Now all that remains is for me to impress you, Chief of the Harak."

Bronzeclaw forced his face into stolidity. "Indeed, Lord Potter. Now, our business. The Potter ring is in the main family vault in London, I believe. Only you can access that vault, so a visit in person will have to be arranged."

Harry nodded, having expected that. "I anticipate being in London in a few days. I'll come to Gringotts as soon after my arrival as possible. I will be publicly claiming my inheritance and living in England from now on."

Bronzeclaw nodded, concealing his curiosity over exactly where the young man had been staying all these years. He had sensed no trace of Dumbledore's involvement behind any of the arrangements for the meeting, although he had still expected the man to turn up with Harry that morning. Arriving with a muggle Aunt was something of a shock, although presumably she had been his guardian.

"I personally have overall management of the Potter vaults," he continued, "although the investment decisions we have the authority to make are largely guided by one of our traders. I assigned Thistledown myself; many of our established customers are unwilling to trust their investments to a female, but she has achieved remarkable returns over the last few years, and made herself wealthy from her commissions. I hope that you will trust her to continue."

Harry nodded immediately. "I'd like to see the statements, but contingent upon the returns being adequate I see no reason to change."

A folder was slid across the desk towards him. Harry passed it to his aunt, whilst concentrating on the goblin.

"The values should be accurate according to the markets as they opened this morning," Bronzeclaw said, indicating the folder. "The main Potter vault and a few that lead from it are, as I said, only accessible to you. We have no information as to their contents, although your family may have kept inventories at one of their properties, or in the vaults themselves. Management strategies can be discussed with Thistledown; your signed approval given to her will be sufficient authority for the bank."

Aunt Mim had flicked through the folder. "I wish she was managing my assets, and your Evans trusts, Harry. So far as I can make out the returns are well above the muggle market averages, although I have no idea about the magical world."

Harry nodded his approval, before turning back to Bronzeclaw and breaking the main subject he'd intended to discuss. "Sirius Black."

Bronzeclaw nodded soberly. "I have little knowledge of the intricacies of his legal case, but I can confirm that the ownership of all of the Black vaults, save for his personal one, has been transferred to you. You wrote to the Black solicitors, I believe, and I have been asked to convey their response to you personally," he continued, handing over a large cream envelope. Harry nodded, opening it to find full legal confirmation of the transferred inheritance, signed and sealed by Sirius Black.

He passed the document back to Bronzeclaw, who scanned it briefly before grinning toothily. "Congratulations, Lord Potter-Black. I understand your position to be unprecedented."

"I believe it is," Harry agreed, smiling slightly. "Are the Black vaults managed in a similar fashion to the Potter ones?"

"They are. The main vault, along with its appendages, is accessible only to you. The other vaults have been largely untouched for a number of years; the Blacks were always a little untrustworthy about others investing their gold. The goblin they'd appointed died a few months ago, and with the sole surviving Black, by name, the subject of a ministry manhunt, we froze the vaults and liquidated what existing investments we could, adding the resulting gold to the vaults."

"I take it Thistledown would be willing to take responsibility for Black investments as well?"

"She would be delighted." Bronzeclaw said drily. "It'll not only help compound her workload, but she'll be able to shift a number of her existing accounts off onto other, less fortunate, traders. She'll have not only a hugely influential client, but more capital, and a slew of goblins owing her favours. She would be forever indebted to you."

Harry smiled. "Probably not a bad position for the client to have their banker in."

"Indeed not," agreed Aunt Mim.

"The vaults will be unfrozen within the week, as soon as administration has finished authorising the paperwork. Thistledown will be available at your convenience to discuss investment strategies. We await your presence, or your owl."

Harry nodded his acknowledgement before rising, appreciating the goblin desire for efficiency.

"Well met, Bronzeclaw. May your enemies wash your gold with their blood."

Bronzeclaw looked faintly shocked at Harry's offering the sort of platitude normally exchanged between goblins of equal station, but offered the formulaic response.

"And the heads of yours guard the halls of your wealth."

They found Flintnose waiting for them outside. He bowed to Bronzeclaw before guiding Harry and Aunt Mim along a series of thickly carpeted corridors and to another large conference room. "Your guest has already arrived, Lord Potter," he said respectfully, before leaving them.

* * *

Harry entered first, holding the plate glass door for his aunt.

They found a man waiting there, a tall silhouette as he looked out of the window and toward the snow-capped mountains beyond. He whirled round when he heard the faint thump of the door's closing.

Harry stared at his godfather. The man looked surprisingly healthy for one who had suffered the torments of Azkaban for so long. His handsome face was thin, but not emaciated, his frame slim rather than malnourished underneath a shirt and pair of trousers clearly muggle in origin.

The man seemed shocked by Harry's appearance, and even more so that of his aunt. He took a step towards them, but Harry quickly moved and sat down at the table, followed by Aunt Mim. Sirius positioned himself opposite them after a moment, still examining the pair of them intently.

Harry took a sheet of parchment from inside of his jacket, unfolding and placing it on the glass between them. "This is an exact copy of the letter you sent to me. I ask you to swear, on your magic, that, to the best of your knowledge at the time of writing, the statements you make are accurate."

Sirius looked at Harry for a moment before grabbing the parchment, scanning it quickly. He raised his hand and concentrated for a moment, brushing thumb over a forefinger. Harry watched, impressed at the wordless, wandless display, as a drop of blood welled and was allowed to fall. Sirius then placed the hand flat on the parchment before speaking in a clear, firm voice.

"I, Sirius Orion Black, once Lord Black and Member of The Twenty, do solemnly swear upon mine magic, life and the honour of mine family that the information laid down upon this parchment is, to the best of my knowledge, the truth, written freely and of mine own volition, with no attempt made to conceal, disguise or misdirect."

He stared into Harry's eyes as he spoke. As soon as he was finished, the magic taking hold and making the ink on the page glow darkly for a second before being absorbed into his hand, Harry rose and walked around the end of the table.

Sirius stood to meet him, and they embraced simultaneously, holding firmly to one another.

"Godfather," Harry breathed in greeting.

"Godson," Sirius responded happily.

Aunt Mim watched them smilingly before standing.

"I believe him." She said to Harry. "I'll leave the pair of you to talk. I'm going to go shopping, I'll leave a car for you to join me later, Harry."

Harry nodded wordlessly, not slackening his embrace.

Aunt Mim left, and a few moments later the two pulled back slightly, Harry dropping his arms to his sides as Sirius shifted his hands to his shoulders.

"Harry?" He asked with a slight frown.

It took a moment to realise the substance of the question.

"It's a long story," he sighed, "and a fair amount of what I have is only hypothesis." He pulled away slowly and sat back down, Sirius taking the chair next to him.

"I want to know everything," he said earnestly.

"I'll tell most of what I know," Harry replied, sighing slightly at the length of time this was going to take, but immeasurably glad to be sat in front of, and speaking to, his godfather.

"My parents knew they were going to die," he began bluntly.

Sirius' eyes widened, and he began to form a response before closing his mouth soundlessly.

"Basically, I suspect that there was a prophecy; Dumbledore's famous for loving them, after all. I doubt my parents were supposed to know about it, but somehow found out about its existence, if not the specifics of its contents. Dumbledore made them go into hiding with me, telling them it was for my protection, despite plenty of other parents with young children, people far less valuable to the war effort, being told to fight. He told them to hide in a cottage in Godric's Hollow, a part muggle town outside of the magical world, and well away from Potter territory.

When he began demanding a Fidelius they might have initially demurred, unwilling to put a person at as much risk as their Secret-Keeper, prospective prophecy aside, would inevitably be. Of course, they chose you, their oldest friend. The person who would never betray them."

"I never did, never would." Sirius interjected vehemently at this.

"I know that now," Harry continued calmly, "and the whole thing makes more sense now that I do. I suspect they told their plan to Dumbledore, who knew that you would be at least difficult for the Dark Lord to break. He suggested Pettigrew instead; saying that the less obvious choice, the quietly devoted tag-along of your youth, would provide more security."

Sirius growled at the mention of Pettigrew's name, although by now he was frowning in thought.

"Dumbledore managed it. The Dark Lord was then informed of the prophecy, probably something about me being a threat to him in the future, although it may have been more generic bearing in mind that Lord Longbottom and his wife were attacked at the same time, although their son escaped. Dumbledore somehow revealed Pettigrew to be the Secret-Keeper, and probably sent him to the Dark Lord too, just to make absolutely sure Voldemort reached the end of the breadcrumbs.

Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow and killed my parents. I then destroyed that incarnation of him. Pettigrew would no doubt have been killed before the aurors could question him, but before that happened you threw yourself onto the altar and Dumbledore made sure you were sent to Azkaban."

Sirius looked furious, but let Harry continue.

"I became Dumbledore's mascot, and was abandoned with my magic-hating muggle relatives. Thankfully my parents saw enough to take out insurance policies. They worked out who Dumbledore would send their orphaned son to, and arranged matters with a firm of muggle solicitors. A letter was released just over a year after their deaths, telling my mother's favourite, and by that point sole-surviving, cousin that she had an unknown nephew most likely suffering at the hands of the hated Petunia and her walrus sanctuary of a family-trust me- they're huge. The year let Dumbledore get complacent.

Aunt Mim- who was the woman who came with me today- immediately investigated and began secretly pushing for a transfer of custody. Luckily, as my mother would have known, she had sufficient influence to keep the proceedings under cover. It helped that Dumbledore was clearly not one to bother with muggle paperwork, so it turned out that I was never officially adopted by Petunia. Keeping everything quiet meant it took a long time, however, and it was an uphill struggle until the three year old me was rescued, nearly drowned, from the swimming pool by a concerned neighbour, after being held under by my cousin. That seemed to help convince the social workers that the existing arrangements were unsuitable." Harry finished drily, forcing his tone into neutrality as he recalled the still-vivid event that had required six months of psychiatry.

Sirius' expression was by now, if possible, even more furious as he contemplated the near-murder of his godson. Harry pressed on before he could say anything.

"Anyway, I was taken away from the Dursleys, thank Merlin, and adopted by Aunt Mim. The Dursleys never knew what happened to me, and unless they've seen me in the papers posing with Aunt Mim, which is unlikely when they only read things which reinforce their own prejudices, then they still have no idea. Aunt Mim, much to her disappointment, had to have the child-abuse prosecutions dropped to preserve some semblance of anonymity."

"And Dumbledore?" Questioned Sirius, barely above a whisper.

"Wouldn't have been told for at least a month after the ambulance took me away; my Aunt had the squib he was using to spy on me killed. After that he probably spent a while thinking me dead, before doing some blood spells a Light-Lord should probably not know about with the bones of one of my relatives to find out about my continued survival.

"He's no doubt spent years scouring the magical world for any trace of me, but never bothered searching amongst the muggles he loves. He's apparently sent lots of letters since the age it was reasonable for me to have started reading, but only official Hogwarts correspondence, imbued with a thousand years of locating magic, actually reached me

Two days ago I reached my majority as a Lord, and decided myself ready to return to England and join the magical world." He finished, looking expectantly at his companion.

Sirius sat there for a couple of minutes, busy reconciling information before asking a question Harry hadn't expected. "Have you been happy?"

Surprise stopped an answer for a few moments before Harry replied. "Yes." He responded honestly. "I love my Aunt as if she were my own mother, and she loves me like her own son."

Sirius' face adopted a relieved cast before he asked his next question. "What was your childhood like?"

"After leaving the Dursleys, fantastic. My Aunt travels a lot with her job, so I've seen more of the world than most people do in a lifetime. I've never wanted for anything, except perhaps stability, and that's about to change."

Sirius looked thoughtful before continuing, clearly selecting inquiries from an extensive list in his head. "And magic? You clearly know about the magical world, and your accidental magic would be out of control by now if you hadn't received any training, but I don't understand where you would have got any."

Harry decided to leave out any mention of Remus for the time being. "My parents recommended my Aunt contact a tutor, which she did. He's lived with us and taught me since I was three. He's managed to find others in the magical communities we've been near to on our travels, so I've been taught by specialists in lots of different magics and subjects. We've been careful to conceal my identity, have stayed largely away from Europe, and paid well."

Sirius looked at him consideringly. "You must be bright." He stated, questioningly.

"I'm probably the most brilliant wizard of my generation, although I admit to not having met many others of it." Harry said honestly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, though he could detect no trace of false arrogance.

"You said you were returning to England. You're going to Hogwarts in September?" He asked, frowning.

"I plan to. I've arranged to meet with Dumbledore on the 13th, although that conversation would need to be fantastically counterproductive to make me change my mind. I'll get what I want from the old man." He said with absolute confidence.

"You mean to meet with Dumbledore alone?" Sirius asked anxiously.

"I do." Harry said calmly, before continuing amusedly. "Why? Who else do you suggest I should take? You're likely to still be a declared criminal in two weeks time, and my aunt could be damaged by his Legilimency, as a muggle."

Sirius' eyes widened again, apparently not having considered that possibility. "And you?" He asked furiously. "You think that you can face his Legilimency yourself? He has more than a century of experience for Merlin's sake." He practically shouted.

"You were an auror." Harry stated. "You must have at least basic Legilimency skills. Try me." He suggested.

Sirius looked shocked for a moment, but drew a wand from his sleeve, a wand that was clearly not properly bound to him, Harry noted. " _Legilimens_." Sirius said firmly, pointing the wand at Harry.

Harry felt the probe immediately and was impressed by the strength of his godfather's attack, though it wasn't fuelled by any emotion stronger than a genuine concern for Harry's wellbeing. Harry focused for a moment as he drew the probe deeper into his mindscape. Once he had the attack where he wanted it he began to wrap it in the darkness of the midnight sky that formed the backdrop of his mind. Sirius' probe was completely isolated from his own mind as Harry drew more blackness around it, completely disorientating someone who, whilst highly competent, was clearly no master of this particular art. Harry held on a few moments longer before carefully guiding the probe, still tightly wrapped, back toward the mind of its owner with his own Legilimency.

He focused his attention back through his real eyes to find his godfather halfway out of his chair, gasping slightly.

"You alright?" He asked with genuine concern, although he was pleased in spite of himself at the success of his experiment.

Sirius collected himself. "I'm fine. That was... very impressive, a technique I've never even heard of before. Dumbledore is still, however, a far more powerful Legilimens than I am, and may be less susceptible." He warned.

Harry nodded. "But Legilimency is illegal in Britain unless officially sanctioned by the ministry. Dumbledore, as soon as he realises I know something of Occlumency, will back off for fear of me mistrusting or reporting him." He snorted. "Though the first of those ships sailed long ago. Besides, I wouldn't actually let Dumbledore in at all. Try again." He suggested.

Sirius' eyes widened as he caught the meaning of Harry's words, but curiosity about his godson's capabilities got the better of him once again.

" _Legilimens._ "

The darkness was still there, although this time it didn't reach out to wrap around him. In fact, the sky he had seen before was caught behind shimmering, faceted barriers. The shields were as clear as glass, but the mindscape they sheltered was strangely distorted, the light of the stars that he had briefly noticed scattering its depths reflected off the diamond-like edges of the walls, drawn down into an infinitude of coldly sparkling colour.

After orientating himself he threw his probe against the barriers, knowing instinctively that it was hopeless. Even with that in mind he was shocked at the absolutely unforgiving impenetrability of what he found, as he was flung straight back into his own mind with a hundred times the strength of the initial probe.

He recovered slightly more quickly this time to find his godson grinning at him, though still with one hand resting concernedly on his arm.

"Ok," he said finally. "You might be ready to meet with Dumbledore."

The grin widened. "Thank you godfather. Would you prefer that, or Sirius, by the way?"

"Sirius, I think. I love being your godfather, of course, even if I've only just met you, but it does feel slightly ageing. I'm only thirty seven." He said, slightly defensively.

Harry rolled his eyes, smiling too. "Of course, Sirius. I don't know how to thank you for making me your heir, let alone Lord Black, by the way."

Sirius chuckled. "I never wanted to be Lord Black to be honest; the inheritance was so much of a poison pill in my estimation that I actually felt slightly guilty giving it to you."

"Well, thank you anyway. Gringotts and the Black solicitors have confirmed everything to me."

Sirius cocked his head. "Impressive efficiency," he commented, "although, it was probably wise to seek at least some assurances before meeting with me."

Harry nodded. "Exactly. I've signed your formal request for asylum. It should also be valid on the Potter lands, seeing as you'll be under my legal protection there as well."

Sirius hugged him. "Thank you, you don't know how much it means to me to finally have some safety after a year of being on the run and under a kiss-on-sight order."

"That's still in force," Harry warned him quickly, "although I'll meet with the Minister and persuade him that it's in his best interests to rescind it."

"How on earth do you plan to do that?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"I'm not exactly sure," Harry said musingly, "but I promise you this, I will not stop working towards your freedom until I have achieved it."

Sirius grinned at him, slightly tearfully. "You needn't do that. Go to school, I'll achieve my own freedom. Now I have asylum I can work towards that without having to worry about dementors, or Dumbledore's influence at the Ministry."

Harry shook his head. "I don't abandon the people I care for, and everything I know about you, and have seen since meeting you, suggests that I do, Sirius."

Sirius smiled at him softly.

There was a momentary pause as they gathered themselves.

"Your aunt's a muggle. You said you'd travelled a lot with her. What exactly does she do?" Sirius asked curiously.

"She's the Chief Prosecutor for the International War Crimes Tribunal." Harry said, letting a note of pride slip into his voice. "Although she'll take a seat on the board and become a Director when she moves to England with me."

Sirius looked impressed. "She's also very beautiful," he murmured.

Harry grinned. "She is, not that I can appreciate that fully."

"Because she's your Aunt?" Sirius asked curiously.

"Of course not, though incest with a child-guardian power imbalance is deeply questionable."

"Why, then?"

"Because I'm gay." Harry said bluntly.

Sirius' eyes widened in shock. "Um... that's fine by me, of course," he choked out eventually.

"Excellent," Harry said with faint amusement.

"You realise..." Sirius began, composing himself, "that a lot of people in the Wizarding world, particularly the oldest and most established communities, are set against homosexuality."

Harry shrugged. "Of course, but even if I wanted to there's not much I can do about it. I'm certainly not going to hide my sexuality to indulge the whims of people stupid enough to cling mindlessly to their own mad prejudices."

Sirius grinned at him. "You'll have my support, well, once I'm properly free and it's worth having."

"Just hearing you say that is enough. Anyway," Harry continued before they both got emotional again, "I take it from your appearance that you've been living mostly in the muggle world?"

Sirius nodded. "I tried to find you after escaping Azkaban, but after a few months I realised that either Dumbledore had you hidden away out of my reach, despite claiming to have lost you, or that he genuinely had no idea where you were. If his resources were unable to get to you, then there wasn't much I could do. I decided to wait until you turned fourteen and try contacting you directly, but I've been wandering around muggle Europe since my escape. I was actually in Modena when your reply reached me, so it was easy to get to Zurich. I visited the bank here after escaping to source the emergency funds my ancestors always kept hidden away."

"You'll live on the Black estates when you return to England?" Harry asked curiously.

Sirius frowned slightly before looking steadily at Harry. "No," he said slowly, "I think I'll stick around you, if you'll let me of course. I see interesting things happening, and I've lacked proper excitement for a long time." He grinned with his final words, dark eyes lightening with merriment.

Harry just nodded, expecting boredom to drive Sirius into either work or pleasure-seeking once he was away at school. "I'll be going on to London in a few days time, once I've finished packing, basically. Aunt Mim will probably be a week or two behind. You're welcome to come back with me, but you might prefer to stick around here before coming over. I believe the protections won't fully take hold until I've been accepted by the Black wards."

Sirius shook his head. "I'll come with you," he said cheerfully. "Where are you living?" He asked curiously.

"Peru, we've been in Lima for about three months."

The grin returned. "I've always wanted to see some of South America, but I've never had the chance before now."

Harry remembered that he would have to discuss Remus on the plane, and it was that that tempered his instinctive response to Sirius' excitement. "Well, now you do." He said cheerfully. "Where are you staying?"

Sirius gave the name of an expensive hotel on the outskirts of the city.

"We're in the centre of town. How about you join Aunt Mim and me for dinner?" Harry invited.

"Excellent. I only arrived yesterday, and haven't even unpacked yet, so I'm at your disposal." Sirius grinned again.

"Well, in that case, you'll be able to fly out with us tonight?"

"Sure, if I can get a ticket."

Harry shrugged dismissively. "Aunt Mim insists on chartering. If we moved slightly more frequently I think she'd use it as an excuse to buy a jet."

"I'd forgotten how wealthy the Evans family was." Sirius mused.

"Well, what's left of it. It's just Petunia and Aunt Mim now. Petunia was disinherited when she ran away from magic to marry her pet walrus and give birth to a hippo, so Aunt Mim and I are the sole heirs." Harry paused for a moment, before adding. "Another thing Vernon and Petunia hated me for. The idea that an orphaned toddler they kept locked in a cupboard had a trust fund that dwarfed their own wealth was... somewhat irksome to them."

Sirius frowned deeply at the mention of the cupboard, but managed to grin nevertheless.

"I'm still tempted to hunt them down myself."

Harry huffed out a breath. "No mad vengeance, please. This all happened long ago, and I lay nearly all of the blame at Dumbledore's feet anyway. Having to look after a child who represented everything they hated and, in the case of Petunia, spent a lifetime running away from, brought out the worst in them. They're not good people, but they were honest in their hatred, and I can't countenance their deaths." He stared at Sirius firmly when he tried to protest. "I've had a long time to think about it; Aunt Mim has volunteered to have them killed in the past, and my response was the same."

Sirius nodded resignedly, but found himself even more impressed by Harry's aunt.

Harry stood and hugged him. "I think I'm supposed to be shopping with her now, so I should probably go and restrain her as best I can." He said by way of farewell.

Sirius nodded, looking slightly emotional. "Thank you... Harry, for everything, really..."

"Don't thank me until you're free," Harry said firmly. "I want to know about everything from your perspective. Including Azkaban." He added, eyeing Sirius shrewdly.

Sirius winced, his eyes becoming haunted.

"It's either me, or I find you some professional help." Harry said, not willing to compromise.

Sirius nodded, then stood mutely as Harry grasped him for a final time and left.


	4. Chapter 4

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-IV-

Dinner that evening was surprisingly relaxed, with conversation flowing easily and Aunt Mim, if not quite as obviously taken with Sirius as he was with her, seemed to appreciate the attention nonetheless.

Sirius has brought his case with him, and they were in the restaurant of the hotel where Harry and Aunt Mim were staying, so it was easy enough to leave straight after coffee, which Harry refused, and get to the plane. They were able to get a takeoff slot quickly, Aunt Mim having phoned the pilots as soon as Harry joined her in the city, and within a couple of hours they were out over the Atlantic.

Waking early the next morning to find his Aunt working and his godfather still asleep, Harry contemplated how he was going to break the subject of Remus to Sirius. To be honest he really had no idea how his godfather would react, and was finding it difficult to be objective when he wasn't entirely sure that he'd forgiven his tutor himself yet. His Aunt smiled up at him as he passed her to reach the buffet that had been set up. Putting a couple of croissants on a plate and pouring a glass of orange juice, Harry decided to be blunt with Sirius and let Remus and him sort, or not sort, out everything between themselves. It wasn't really his place to mediate between friends who'd known one another longer than he'd been alive. Well, unless it actually got violent.

Harry was just finishing his breakfast when Sirius began to stir opposite. He seemed confused for a brief moment before relaxing when he saw Harry.

"Morning," he said gruffly, before asking, "how long until we land?"

Harry checked his watch. "About three hours now, as long as we don't have hold at the airport.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Aunt Mim interrupted, "ATC wouldn't dare make me fly around in circles."

"That one in San Francisco did," Harry reminded her drily.

"Not the second time." She returned calmly.

Harry grinned at her before returning his attention to Sirius, who was now sitting with a plate of food. _Well, let's get this over with,_ he thought, sighing internally.

"Sirius, you remember the tutor I told you about, who's been living with us, and finding others to help teach me?"

Sirius nodded curiously. "Yes, I meant to ask you about them, actually."

 _Here we go._ "His name is Remus Lupin."

Sirius' pureblood training couldn't stop the gaping, a look of astonishment overcoming his features.

"Remus?" He gasped out eventually, looking delighted.

"Yes, I know you were friends at Hogwarts," Harry said cautiously, masking his confusion.

Sirius was grinning broadly. "I had no idea he was still alive; I didn't come across any whispers when I was searching for you."

Harry understood then, and waited for the comprehension he could see slowly dawning on Sirius' face.

"He didn't protest." Sirius said slowly. "He saw me sent to Azkaban and believed I'd betrayed James and Lily."

Harry nodded slowly at the broken words.

Sirius dropped his head into his hands and moaned softly. Harry saw his Aunt look up concernedly from the corner of his eye, but she went back to her laptop when he gave her a smile and nod of reassurance.

"I'm sorry," he began inadequately. "He's read your letter, and he did believe you immediately from that."

Sirius shook his head. "He betrayed me. He _believed_ that I betrayed them. The one thing I would never do."

Harry wanted to get up and embrace his godfather, but knew he had to work through this on his own, at least partly, before having to face Remus. He felt guilty for dumping all of this on Sirius so close to the inevitable confrontation, but hadn't really wanted to spoil his reunion with his godfather the previous day. At least he could break down here in private, and have a chance to compose himself before they landed.

Harry had debated telling Remus about Sirius' coming with them when he'd called last night before taking off, but Remus had moved on from guilt to self-pity it seemed, and he'd been sufficiently irritated by his whining to not bother.

* * *

The time difference meant that they landed in Lima around breakfast time. Sirius had calmed down somewhat, and assuaged Harry's guilt over dragging him halfway to Peru before telling him about Remus. They found Remus in the living area when they reached the flat. He stood and smiled at Harry as he came in, taking a step forward. He fell back when he saw Sirius following him, preceding Aunt Mim.

"Harry..." He gasped out, turning to him desperately.

Before Harry could respond Sirius had stepped in front of him. "Remus." He growled. "I take it we can go somewhere to talk?" He asked Harry, turning his head towards him. Harry nodded and indicated the spare study they kept most of their magical library in, and where Remus sometimes worked.

He watched as his tutor and friend was dragged off by his godfather before facing Aunt Mim, who was looking at him with a certain amount of concern, but had masked any curiosity she might be feeling. He smiled at her reassuringly.

"We'll let them sort it out. The wards should stop anyone getting seriously injured."

She nodded. "I'll need to change, but then I should get to the office. We've got a couple of complications. Don't worry" She reassured when he started frowning, "it shouldn't be a significant problem, and I hope to still be in England within the fortnight."

"I trust you." He said, smiling. "I'll probably spend a week preparing myself. I've no idea what's going to happen with Sirius and Remus, but I think both of them were planning to come over with me." His smile widened. "If we have to separate the children then you can take Remus."

She smiled back, "Fine," and then went to swap suits.

Harry went back to his room to check a few points he'd highlighted in the political commentary sections of the Daily Prophets he'd read in Switzerland against the almost complete collection of English Ministry Statute Books he and Remus had managed to collect.

His being keyed into the wards allowed him to keep something of an eye on Remus and Sirius, and he knew that, past the initial contact where Remus was basically dragged away, they hadn't touched one another. Even without listening to the wards, however, he could hear the shouting through the apparently defective muggle soundproofing.

* * *

Harry spent the week in a blizzard of preparation, carefully plotting his return. He mixed long conversations with Sirius, whom he had quickly come to consider a second guardian, about pureblood rituals and customs that he'd been unable to find in even the most obscure books, with hours of research, fitting his plans to the political realities of the situation reported by the Prophet. Remus moped around; Harry and Sirius largely ignoring him seemed only to have deepened his sense of self-pity.

By the Monday after returning from Switzerland Harry had decided himself ready. Both Sirius and Remus had absolutely refused to stay behind, or come on a separate plane. Harry briefly debated booking them onto a normal flight, and putting Remus in coach, but decided he wasn't really that mean, and had managed to book a jet with a separate bedroom anyway, so he could lock one of them up if necessary. Part of him found Sirius and Remus' apparently childish behaviour faintly amusing, whilst the rest of him sat firmly on Sirius' side, particularly as the frantic remorse Remus had demonstrated after reading the letter since seemed to have become a mixture of the self-righteous and the defensive.

Anyway, when they boarded the plane that evening, Harry reclined one of the comfortable chairs and forced himself into sleep, unwilling to listen to ten hours of bitching, but setting up a ward that would wake him if it detected any violent movements or serious injuries.

When he woke he found the other two sleeping quietly, neither having retreated to use the bed aft, and the plane over flying over the Bay of Biscay. It would be early afternoon when they touched down thanks to the time difference, so Harry settled down to stare out of the window towards the country he hadn't seen in eleven years. He concentrated on resetting his body with magic, soothing away any vestige of jet lag. He would need the full measure of his concentration to assimilate with the Potter wards today.

He woke his two companions shortly after, so that their magic could readjust them smoothly too. The day was gorgeous, with the bright sunlight reflecting merrily off the gentle waves in the Channel. Sirius' voice drew Harry away from his watching.

"Harry. Remus has apologised to me and I have accepted. We'd both like to say sorry to you for being little more than an irritating distraction this last week."

Harry rolled his eyes as he grinned at them. "Thank Merlin. Remus, I apologise for ignoring you and, although I still absolutely hate what you did, I forgive you for whatever might exist to forgive."

Remus' nervous-hopeful look relaxed into a smile. "Thank you." He paused. "I should tell you that I've decided to apply for a teaching post at Hogwarts this year. I'll be able to help keep you safe, and to keep an eye on Dumbledore."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure that's wise? It's basically inevitable that Dumbledore will find out that you've been with me all these years. He is not going to like a member of the Order of the Phoenix having kept things from him; he'd only employ you so he could keep an eye on you."

Remus nodded. "You know that you can trust my Occlumency, however. We can at least delay his suspicions by me applying after you've made your return public; I can pretend to have been in hiding and lured back by your reappearance. After that it shouldn't seem odd that we become close when I was such a good friend of your parents, and am one of Sirius'."

Harry thought this over quickly before agreeing; it would be good to have Remus nearby in spite of any risks.

"I take it it's DADA you'll be applying for?"

Remus nodded again. "It's what I'm best at, and they've only got a couple of Professors in the department at the moment. I have the necessary qualifications, and a history of blind obedience to the Light that Dumbledore can milk if my being a werewolf gets out." He said logically.

"And what do I get to do when I manage my freedom?" Sirius whined from his seat.

"You were the one who was so eager to get out of the responsibilities of being Lord Black. Perhaps you could take up bingo?" Harry suggested sweetly. "It's a muggle game played by elderly ladies," he explained when Sirius looked confused.

Comprehension dawned faintly. "It's the one with the numbers, yes?"

"Probably. Anyway, you could always rejoin the aurors?" Harry suggested more seriously.

Sirius snorted. "Amelia's not bad with the DMLE, but Kingsley was always useless, and now he's in charge of the aurors. They haven't been well-lead since Mad-Eye was forced to choose between paperwork and retirement."

Harry found himself slightly exasperated. "You mean you spent a year on the run, plotting your return, and never gave any thought to what you would do once you actually had returned?"

Sirius scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I didn't really think much beyond finding you and getting you to believe me."

Harry grinned at Sirius in spite of himself. "I'm flattered by the importance you give me, but you should probably think about what you want to do before you end up bored out of your mind."

"I thought you wanted me to spend all of my time with a psychiatrist?"

Harry sighed; professional help was something Sirius kept insisting he wasn't in need of. "It gives you something to do," he pointed out. "How about we make a deal? I'll find you a psychiatrist and you'll meet with them a couple of times a week. When you find yourself something to do full-time then we'll drop the sessions."

Sirius narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, but gave in with a sigh. "Fine, if it'll give you some peace of mind."

"That's what I hope the counselling will do for you." Said Harry.

Sirius grunted and Harry returned to admiring the warmly lit countryside beneath them; even if was only the muggle parts of Britain.

They took a car into London and had it drop them off outside of The Leaky Cauldron, which Remus assured Harry was the most discreet muggle entrance onto Diagon Street itself. Harry arranged for the driver to park somewhere and wait for them whilst they went to Gringotts, trusting magic to keep their luggage secure in the muggle world. They'd decided to clear Harry's business with the bank before risking committing to staying in England without that security.

The pub was dusty and dimly lit when they entered, but Harry could feel the strength of the muggle repelling charms as an increasing prickle against his skin as they moved through towards a courtyard at the back where Remus tapped a series of bricks in a wall.

Harry felt slightly intoxicated by the strength of the ambient magic as they stepped through the newly formed archway and into the broad and sun soaked avenue beyond. They'd joined Diagon Street towards the bottom, a few shops up from the junction where it divided into another, marginally less respectable street which led eventually to Knockturn Alley, and the beginnings of a smart residential district.

Diagon Street itself was neatly paved in granite and lined with impressive lime trees. The shops, many brightly painted, all seemed to be neatly kept. The main shopping street of magical London was, unsurprisingly for one of the largest settlements in the magical world, packed with people. Harry was immediately thankful that the three of them had gone to particular trouble with their glamours.

Remus and Sirius chatted away happily as they walked up towards Gringotts, whilst Harry enjoyed the atmosphere with only half an ear on their conversation. Most people spared the three of them, handsome, but not unusually so under their glamours, barely a glance, too caught up in their own shopping, problems and children.

They reached Gringotts eventually, a broad neoclassical edifice in ivory marble towards the middle of the street. The uniformed goblins on either side of the doors nodded and held them open as they entered. Harry heard Sirius and Remus gasp on either side of him as their glamours were dragged forcibly away. He held his for a moment, testing the strength of the enchantments before he let it fade painlessly.

The silver framed pair of doors they went through into the huge lobby sang with powerful wards, bound deeply into the earth and stone beneath the building, tied to the blood of the Harak clan that ran the bank's British branch.

They stepped onto the polished parquet to find themselves ushered off into an anteroom by a waiting goblin, before they could draw the attention of the couple of score wizards queueing. Remus extricated himself quickly, satisfied that Harry was safe in the bank and deciding that this was business best conducted without his presence.

"Lord Potter-Black, Mr Black" The goblin addressed Harry and Sirius, bowing slightly, once his guests were seated. "I will inform Thistledown that you have arrived; she would have been waiting for you herself had she known the time of your proposed arrival." He finished, looking as anxious as a goblin could.

"That's not a problem," Harry said warmly, "I said today in my letter, but didn't have much idea what time we would make it. I am instead delighted to have made your acquaintance in her place."

The goblin smiled shyly; flattered was not an emotion their race found easy either. He left with another bow, overcoming his anti-time wasting instincts to offer them refreshments, although seeming relieved when they refused.

A couple of minutes later they were joined by the first female goblin Harry had ever encountered. She was as tall as he judged the average male to be, and he thought her long brown hair, tied back into a neat ponytail, looked peculiar against her wrinkled greenish face. The dark eyes however, were sharp with cunning intelligence, though the warmth they also held seemed genuine enough.

He rose with Sirius to greet her, extending a hand as they eyed one another assessingly before inclining their heads, her marginally more than him.

"Trader Thistledown."

"Lord Potter-Black. Might I invite you to adjourn to my office, with your companion, of course." She added, acknowledging Sirius.

He nodded, and followed her silently through the door she had entered by, and along a brightly-lit and thickly carpeted corridor to a spacious and well appointed office, window noticeably unenchanted and showing an excellent view of the elegant street outside.

They were indicted towards a pair of comfortable chairs in front of the large desk, Thistledown waiting for them before taking her own seat.

"I am honoured to have been kept on as the manager of your investments." She began. "I am also led to understand that I am to take instruction with regard to the Black vaults?"

"You are. My Aunt and I have both been fantastically impressed by the statements we have seen, Sraga-Rem."

She smiled at the epithet; translating roughly to 'Wise-One' it was considered the highest form of praise reserved for financial merit alone amongst the goblin tribes.

"The Potter assets we hold," she began, "are divided, well, the ones with a financial value we can accurately assess, between the few galleons held in the vaults we can access, the stakes in various companies Potters have made and trusted the bank with knowledge of and limited control over, the property portfolio you have here in London and we manage, and the monies I trade with the Director's permission in your name."

Harry nodded. "You can give me rough percentages?"

She smiled. "Exact ones, accurate to this morning. The long-term shareholdings amount to seventy three point three percent, the properties, we think, to twenty and a half percent, the monies I trade fluctuate in real terms on a daily basis, but I can access three percent of the total value. The remainder is the completely liquid capital in the vaults."

He nodded again. "I've reviewed the list of the long-term holdings the bank sent me, and these..." he continued, passing across a few sheets of parchment, "are the ones I would like to be liquidated, though not rapidly enough to disrupt the price. These..." he handed over another page, "are the companies I would like to increase or gain holdings in. The stock percentage targets should all be there, as well as the maximum buy prices."

Thistledown nodded as she studied the lists. "These aren't the sort of investments I specialise in, but I will have it sorted. You seem to have covered everything most comprehensively." She finished in a satisfied tone.

Harry continued, withdrawing yet another parchment from the nondescript robe he was wearing. "This is authorisation to give you access to five percent of the total funds for market trading. I think the standard commission you currently take is reasonable, but I've also detailed targets which, if achieved, will give you a generous bonus."

She actually grinned at that. "I am grateful for your trust, Lord Potter-Black, and will endeavour to repay it."

"I would expect nothing less." He said gravely. "I understand the property comprises largely of two squares and a number of streets near the ministry?" He asked.

"I believe so. I represent your interests within the bank, and have familiarised myself for this meeting, but do not actively manage any of the property myself. I have been informed by my colleague that most of the houses are held by senior ministry employees on short-term leases."

"That all seems fine." Harry agreed. "My written permissions were sufficient to furnish you with the Black asset lists and outstanding instructions?"

"They were. I have copies here for you," she said, pulling a couple of thick folders from a drawer of the desk.

"Thank you, I'll review these and send on instructions. Would you be able to summarise the Black policies as they were before everything was liquidated or frozen?"

She nodded. "The Blacks were largely mistrustful of goblin wisdom, and we suspect that much of the family's wealth was never held by Gringotts at all, but kept in vaults in their territories."

Sirius interjected. "That's probably true; my father at least was paranoid, and they wouldn't have locked themselves up during The War with their gold stashed in London."

Thistledown looked faintly pleased that her surmise had been backed up. "Nonetheless, the Blacks still have large quantities of gold in the investment vaults, although again the content of the main vault is unknown to us. None of their gold was entrusted to any of our traders; about half was kept in vaults, twenty percent in investments made in the twenty years before Greydoor's death, which we subsequently sold off, and the remaining thirty comprises a few properties in London, and investments made by members of the Black family itself, which we have no right to do more than hold and do what we can to preserve the value of."

"Well," began Harry, "if you'll pass me back the Potter slip authorising you to trade the five percent then I'll extend that to include also the Black gold, on the same terms, immediately. As I said, I'll review the rest and forward you instructions."

Thistledown looked delighted as Harry drew out a quill and amended the document.

"I'll need a couple of bearer books." He noted. "I take it you can have one prepared that will draw on the standard Potter vaults, and another for the Black?"

"Of course. One has been printed for you already for the Potter holdings." Thistledown said, picking up a bound stack of parchment leaves about the same thickness as, but significantly larger than, the muggle chequebooks Harry was used to. "I'll have one in the Black name prepared and sent on to you."

"Thanks, now," Harry continued, "would it be possible to have someone take me to the main Potter and Black vaults?"

She nodded briskly. "I'd take you myself, but I don't actually have the authorisation to go to the deepest vaults. I can, however escort you to one of my colleagues who has. After that I'll file these with the Director and begin the afternoon's trading."

* * *

They were taken to another office to meet Bronzechain, an impressively tall and muscular looking middle-aged goblin who introduced himself as the Chief of Security.

He nodded a brusque acknowledgement before marching off down a series of corridors and flight of steps, eventually reaching a large cart well lit with lamps and comfortably furnished with cushioned seats.

Harry and Sirius both found the ride exhilarating, torches on the cave-like walls of the tunnel guttering at the speed of their passage. They passed underneath a waterfall, the magic of whose water Harry felt claw aggressively at the glamour on his forehead. Luckily it had been settled there long enough, and was a strong and small enough blood-bound spell, to hold firm.

The track ended when they were several hundred feet underground, and Bronzechain had them stand and walk through an huge cavern where a milk-white dragon was curled up against the wall. The dragon's enormous pupils eyed them curiously, having settled from its slightly raised position after identifying Bronzechain by both sight and smell.

The far side of the circular space held a heavy iron gate, which Harry could sense thrumming faintly with magic. A key which Bronzechain appeared to conjure from thin air dealt with that, and they proceeded into a broad passage lined on either side with vault doors, a second mine track running down its centre.

Their escort ushered them into a second cart, like the first, and they set out as quickly as before, past the vaults of the wealthy before dropping down a steep incline. This journey was much shorter, and finished when the cart arrived at large gate whose bars composed glowing green magic.

They stepped out to face it, and Bronzechain graced them with a positively demonic grin. "Every one a trapped killing curse," he chuckled to them, drawing a live mouse from his pocket and tossing it at the gate. It dropped limply to the ground as soon as it came into contact. Harry forced his face into immobility as he watched the gate swing open.

"Only a very specific type of mouse upon which certain enchantments have been cast by myself would satisfy the gate," Bronzechain assured them as they stepped through into a vast circular room, high ceiling a smooth dome and floor darkly gleaming polished granite.

"The vaults of The Twenty." Bronzechain proclaimed sweeping his arm around dramatically as he indicated the doors that ringed the room.

"The Potter vaults first, please," Harry requested. Bronzechain nodded briskly and led them towards a door halfway around the left side. A statue of a bronze griffin stood in the bronze door, rear half sunk into the metal, but with enormous eagle's head and lion's forelegs visible. The head rose as they approached and ruby eyes blinked open to study them.

Eventually they settled on Harry and indicated him forward. He stepped into the reach of the creature and instinctively raised his hand. The huge beak slashed forwards, carving a significant gash into Harry's palm. He froze, keeping his hand extended as he blocked the pain and watched the creature's metallic tongue lick the blood from the edge of its beak. The flavour seemed to be contemplated for a few moments before the head nodded slowly and the creature sank back into the metal.

Harry stepped forwards cautiously, pressing his miraculously healed hand against the cool, flat surface. The whole door melted away at his touch.

"I take it it worked?" Sirius asked.

It took him a couple of moments to realise that neither Sirius nor Bronzechain had seen the door disappear. He took that to mean that they wouldn't be able to enter either.

He stepped through the archway and into a big rectangular room entirely of white marble. Ionic pilasters lined the walls and stretched up to the ceiling, deeply carved and gilded decoratively.

A number of doors led off from the main vault, and large chests and delicate tables topped with glass display cases filled the spaces in between. A circular table dominated the centre of the room. The sole object that stood on it had been the focus of Harry's attention from the moment he entered.

A lightly tanned hand, still with wrist and several inches of forearm attached, reached up out of a marble slab, fingers loosely extended.

He approached it slowly, realising exactly why it was there. Sirius' words from the letter came back to him ' _the ring itself cannot be removed from the finger of the last Lord by any but the new'._ He stared at his father's right hand, flesh youthful and unmarred by decay. The House ring would normally be taken by the heir from the finger of the Lord upon the inheritance, be that at some decided point before their death, or immediately following it. He assumed that in the case of the mantle not being picked up immediately then the ring itself would take steps, namely severing the limb it was attached to from the body and transporting itself to a place it considered safe and accessible to the heir.

He reached out to pull the ring from its finger, the skin cool as he brushed it gently. The ring tingled slightly when he touched it, but slipped free easily, apparently eager to unite with its new owner. He examined it in his palm for a few moments; an elegant gold band, the rich yellow of a pure carat hardened from impractical softness with magic, surmounted by a large, blood red, rectangular diamond. The stone had the rampant griffin of the Potters minutely engraved into its face.

He drew in his breath and cleared his mind before putting the ring onto his right ring finger. The band immediately tightened to create a perfect fit, but too much information was flooding his head to notice that. The enchantments on the ring's stone scanned his head gently, and he got a peculiar sense of satisfaction from it as it finished.

Once the ring had judged him it stepped back and allowed his mind to be swamped, becoming a conduit. He sensed the larger Potter properties reaching out to him, cocooning him in their wards, expanding his mind with the knowledge of their secrets. The process was interesting, not at all painful as the partially sentient ring and properties seemed actively eager to meet him, interested in this new activity after a decade of loneliness.

Sirius had told him he was happy to wait for as long as it took; no doubt he was currently trying to entertain Bronzechain, whose job seemed to consist largely of escorting The Twenty to their vaults and looking impressive in uniform. Keeping this in mind, and once the hum of wards and information had died down into a gentle stream that could be redirected into his subconscious with Occlumency, he went to explore a few of the rooms that the polished mahogany doors in the walls led to. He noted that his father's hand had disappeared, presumably the ring's last independent act of magic having been to apparate it back to the rest of the body, though how it managed that past Gringotts' wards was anyone's guess.

The plain doors had only ordinary handles of polished brass; his ancestors having apparently rejected the need for additional security. The first led into a small chamber with iron chests stacked ceiling high around the walls, he opened one to find it full to the brim with old galleons; more than twice the size of the modern currency and formed from a greater percentage of raw gold. The room behind the second door was nearly identical.

The third led into what seemed to be a dining room, free of only dust and food, table set for twelve. He assumed it was the relic of some long-forgotten war, when the vaults themselves had been considered a form of last refuge. This theory gained credence when he found two bedrooms, a bathroom and a storeroom through a door opposite the entrance.

The last door hid a study; fitted cases housing hundreds of ancient scrolls along one wall, vast desk standing in front of wing backed chair and behind a pair of sofas in burgundy leather facing one another across a coffee table. Harry eyed the scrolls curiously, but, after finding the desk's drawers empty, decided that he would have to wait a while to practise the Latin they were no doubt written in. They would be the scrolls his ancestors had brought from Rome when they moved to Britain, and those they had written in the centuries before they adopted new languages.

He turned eventually, sighing reluctantly as he decided it was probably best not to try Sirius' patience, even in spite of his repeated assurances.

When he exited the main room he found Sirius sprawled comfortably in a conjured chair, Bronzechain standing stolidly to one side.

"All done?" He called cheerfully.

Harry nodded, showing him the ring.

Sirius eyes darkened slightly as he remembered the man on whose finger he had last seen it, but he smiled nonetheless.

"Right!" He continued excitedly. "Black vault next."

He led Harry and Bronzechain across the room to the door immediately left of the one they had entered via. Harry rolled his eyes internally as he waved a hand to vanish the chair Sirius had apparently completely forgotten about.

The Black vault's door was black. The unknown metal gleamed darkly in the light of the brightly burning torches, which had lit in their sconces immediately upon their entrance. The enormous shadow panther that guarded the vault slid its polished head smoothly out of the surface and eyed them calmly through darkly glowing green eyes.

Sirius gestured Harry forward impatiently. "I doubt she'll accept my blood anymore," he began, before explaining, "The magic never fully bound itself to me because I had no opportunity to take the ring after my father's death. It should have, like the Potter ring, managed to transport itself to the vault. Any of the Black properties it would deem itself safe enough at would be difficult to access without it. The magics that bound themselves to me through a decade of my being the only one they could go to should now have completely left me after my mental and legal rejections of the title."

Harry stepped forward and once more extended his hand. The head stretched out slightly and a gleaming white fang sank delicately into the tip of his middle finger. Harry thought he preferred this operation to that of the aggressive griffin. The panther looked him over slowly as it tested his blood. The eyes widened suddenly, and Sirius, who had been watching intently, burst out laughing.

"She knows you're a halfblood!" He exclaimed. "I never thought I'd see her actually shocked."

The guardian ignored Sirius and slid back into the metal, eyes fixed on him steadily as 'she' disappeared.

"I take it you'll still be able to come in?" Harry asked his godfather.

"As long as you permit me, yes. Once you put on the ring you should be able to control entry fully, although it's nigh-on impossible for anyone not with the actual family blood to enter one of these vaults anyway; even the Lord's permission is unlikely to be sufficient. Luckily you're a quarter Black by blood, or Adica here," he said, tilting his head towards the door the panther had disappeared into, "would likely have been more suspicious."

Harry pressed his hand against the surface of the door, as he had done with the first. It, also, melted away before his eyes, and he stepped forward into a large circular room, floor of gleaming obsidian, cave-rough walls curving up from it to form a dome. Despite expecting the hand that sat in the centre of the floor, Harry couldn't help but start a little at the sight of the ghost-white limb lying limply against the stone, cast into sharp relief by the light of the enormous iron chandelier hung from a chain in the centre of the ceiling.

The room was otherwise completely bare. Harry knelt in front of the hand, which was clearly that of a man who had been much older than his father at the point of his own death. A black diamond surmounted a brilliant platinum band, which formed the body and tail of an exquisitely detailed panther. The cat's face was caught in the stone's relief carving, staring straight out towards Harry.

The ring slipped off easily enough, but felt unnaturally cold. He spent a moment debating where to put it before sliding it onto his right middle finger; the one where 'Adica' had made her incision. It flared with heat suddenly and he gasped quietly as cold claws raked his mind. This was not the curiosity of before, but a hard-edged and thorough search of his mind and being. He let the enchantments have free reign, not entirely sure how to use Occlumency against it even if he was so inclined.

The ring eventually clinked with a sense of faint approval, and he felt it resize to his finger in the moment before it allowed his mind to be flooded with the knowledge of wards and family secrets it gave access to.

The Blacks were, as he had gathered, clearly less trusting of the goblins than the Potters were. The three doors equally spaced around the room led to an empty library, shelves delicately chiselled from the rock itself, a cavernous and completely empty room opposite the entrance, and a smaller chamber which contained only a couple of chests full of silver chalices and instruments he recognised with some distaste as being used in some of the more questionable old blood rituals.

He returned to Sirius and Bronzechain quickly, giving verbal permission for Sirius' entry; he would have done so before exploring, but had wandered absentmindedly as he was forced to focus on a stream of information far less inclined to be sidelined than the previous one. Sirius stepped in, glanced around the empty rooms dismissively, seemingly unsurprised at their state, and then grinned when he saw the ring on Harry's finger.

"Looks good on you, pup," he said cheerfully.

"Pup?"

Sirius shrugged dismissively even as he nodded. "You're the son of a marauder. I'm your godfather, and my animagus is a dog. That makes you pup."

"I'm not entirely sure I follow," Harry said, before continuing archly, "would that make a daughter of yours 'bitch'?"

Sirius laughed. "I suspect I'll never find that one out, anyway, my mother is the bitch."

"Is?"

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically. "She's dead, but she spent years pouring as much of herself into one of her portraits as possible. I have no doubt that that portrait still exists and is going to be a nightmare to get rid of."

"I'm sure we'll get along fine." Harry assured him.

"Good luck with that." Sirius said darkly.

Harry checked his watch to find it still early in the afternoon. "Let's find Remus and get the bags then. I take it you still know the hotels here?" He asked, knowing Sirius had lived in London with his family for most of his youth before the War.

Sirius nodded, but had a thoughtful glint in his eyes.

Bronzechain, who had waited silently, expression frozen, whilst they talked, guided them back up to the surface, shaking their hands formally in farewell and leaving them in the anteroom they'd initially been taken to. Harry told Sirius to reapply his glamour, even as he drew his own into place. Sirius frowned, but did as instructed. As Sirius finished casting the spell Harry extended his own magic and, with Sirius' slightly confused permission, bound the glamour to his own.

They walked out together, and Harry kept the link supported until they'd passed safely through the doors designed to strip concealment charms, before releasing it.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him curiously. "That was... interesting." He said questioningly.

"It doesn't work with many spells, I don't think, but then I haven't really experimented. I found the idea in the old journal of a man who used to be part of a team of thieves. He didn't really put down anything explicit, so I had to experiment quite a bit before getting it to work, but they effectively bound their concealment charms to the thief who was best at them, or magically the strongest, and as long as they consciously maintained them as well, and there weren't too many bound to the one person, then as long as the subject could keep their own charms up, then the others would stick as well. As I understand it, it was actually designed for doorways like that one in Gringotts, although I don't think these particular thieves were ever quite brave enough to attempt to rob a branch."

Sirius looked interested, and chuckled sardonically at the end. "No, I suspect fear of goblin reprisals provides as much deterrent as actual security; I remember coming here with my father once as a child and seeing a prospective thief's head strung up to one side of the entryway." He paused. "I think the ministry asked them to take it down, and they did, eventually."


	5. Chapter 5

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-V-

The two of them found Remus easily enough; he'd apparently done some shopping and had come back to hover around the bank's entrance waiting for them. He, too, smiled when he saw the two rings on Harry's hand, although he'd glamoured them into plain bands and draped his shields over them to disguise their magic.

They found their driver waiting faithfully by the car, smoking contentedly. He helped them retrieve their luggage, and Remus went back into the Leaky Cauldron to find a couple of willing porters. Sirius turned to face Harry.

"Pup," he began, "what about Grimmauld Place?"

Even as the name was picked up by Harry's mind, the house it referred to reached out to him. He felt long centuries of tradition and stoicism secure behind a staggeringly complex array of wards. He gasped internally and pulled away.

"The Black house in London?"

Sirius nodded. "Yes, I assume you can sense it now. It's been abandoned since my childhood, so even the preservation spells won't have kept it completely untouched, but it will be considerably more secure than a hotel. And, unlike most of the other family houses, it'll be easy enough to access without anyone becoming aware of anything unusual, bearing in mind the Fidelius it's been under for more than a century."

Harry thought for a moment before nodding. "Let's stay there then."

Remus came back soon after, followed by two squat, and particularly burly looking men, who effortlessly picked up a couple of the lightened cases apiece, and followed Sirius as he led the group back onto Diagon Street. A few minutes of walking later and they arrived in Grimmauld Square.

Three sides of the square were bordered by large and elegant townhouses, severely Georgian. A garden filled the centre, immaculately-kept and divided from the houses by a broad walkway. Sirius took them along the equally substantial path that bisected the gardens, neatly lined with trees. They arrived immediately across from the main street that led into the square, standing midway along the square's empty fourth side, facing a vast rectangle of grass behind iron railings, whose far side faced another square.

Before Harry could do anything, still partly-concentrated on the disillusionment charm he'd brought up around them when they'd joined the sparsely populated residential streets, Sirius had pulled out a new wand, presumably stolen, and Obliviated the two porters, who had been waiting confusedly. They were sent on their way, having been convinced that they'd helped a nice young family, just back from a holiday in Corsica, carry their luggage to one of the houses on a street nearby. Harry, feeling slightly guilty, tipped them generously before they left.

Despite being able to sense the house and its wards humming powerfully only feet away, Harry was unsure what to do until Sirius gestured him forward.

"Press some blood to the railings; the Fidelius will have bound itself to the house itself."

Harry raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"It wouldn't work normally, but a house this old and steeped in magic will have become at least very slightly sentient over the centuries, which means that the magic actually had something to latch onto. I don't think it's as strong as it would be when bound to the soul of a person, particularly one who doesn't live here, but it has made the building entirely inaccessible for nearly twenty years. Your blood should effectively ask the wards, and the Fidelius, to bind themselves to you."

"And if they don't want to?" Remus asked suspiciously.

Even Sirius looked slightly uncomfortable. "Then they'll kill him." He said bluntly, before adding hastily, "But they wouldn't reject the acknowledged Lord of the Blacks."

Harry nodded, willing to trust his godfather on this. He could feel the house and wards anyway, and sense their lofty curiosity at his presence.

"Why does it always have to be blood?" He muttered softly to himself as he stepped forward, pricking the finger that bore the Black ring with magic and pressing the tip against the point of a railing.

He wasn't quite able to stifle his gasp this time as he felt the myriad wards suddenly wrap around him, using him and his magic as their focal point. The Fidelius gave way last; a series of weighty strands that seemed to tighten themselves physically in his chest before settling down.

"You did it!" Came Sirius' exclamation, and Harry opened his eyes, not really having been aware of closing them under the sudden flood of power.

The neatly trimmed grass now ringed a huge edifice, constructed from the same fine white stone and in a similar style to the rest of the houses in the square, but a full story taller than their three, and stretching its immense facade along most of the fourth side's length. The railings, now surmounting six-foot perimeter walls, gleamed openly with thick curtains of protective magic.

"I'm a Black, in Blood and Name and Spirit," said Sirius, using the ritual words, "but you'll have to give Remus verbal permission to enter, or even see, the house."

Harry noticed Remus looking at the pair of them curiously, apparently completely unaware of the massive building that had suddenly appeared.

He faced him.

"I, Harry James Antares Potter-Black, Lord Black, do hereby welcome and grant entry past the Fidelius charm of Grimmauld Place, London, to Remus Lupin, tutor, friend and guardian."

The words seemed sufficient, at least judging by Remus' gasp and widened eyes as he stared over Harry's shoulder.

"Well," Sirius continued irrepressibly, "shall we go in, my lord?" He added mockingly, fluttering a hand and bowing low to Harry.

"Seeing as I'm holding the disillusionment, you can deal with the cases," Harry told him.

Sirius grinned, and flicked the wand, which he hadn't put away, to raise them gently into the air and draw them after them.

They went through the gates, which stood open, and up the driveway, which divided around a huge fountain, basin dry, to allow for strings of carriages. A series of broad steps led up to the portico. The double doors, with their polished silver panther-head knockers, opened silently at his touch. Harry let the glamour fall with a faint sense of relief.

The three of them were greeted by an ancient-looking house elf, standing nervously in the three storey-high entrance hall.

The elf eyed them, looking unsurprised to see Sirius and Remus there, but curious about by Harry's presence.

"Kreacher, oh, how I have missed you!" Sirius exclaimed, even as he gestured for the patiently hovering cases to land on the floor around the elf.

"Sirius!" The word itself was barely discernible, hidden as it was in an ear-splitting shriek.

Remus and Harry instinctively covered their ears, whilst Sirius looked apologetic, presumably for not warning them.

He led them across to the right side of the room, until they stood in front of a large portrait of a woman, still delicately beautiful in old age, dressed in black and covered in diamonds.

"Mother!" Sirius exclaimed in a sugary-sweet tone.

The woman, who had fallen silent at their approach and examined them closely out of darkly shrewd gray eyes, snorted elegantly, apparently having quite got over her initial outburst.

"Sirius." She said in a high, cool tone, holding her head stock-still. "I see you live still, and can only assume that you have taken the inheritance, in spite of mine and your father's wishes." At this she was joined in her frame by a man, equally old and distinguished in both looks and dress.

"Sirius." He repeated his wife's greeting, though in a voice which was, perhaps, marginally warmer.

"Mummy, Daddy." Sirius replied facetiously. "I'm afraid, however, that you at least, mother, are incorrect in your assumption." He said, apparently delighted at catching her out.

The face remained motionless, save for an eyebrow rising so fractionally every wrinkle remained in place.

"Tut, tut," continued Sirius, shaking his head and raising his hand for their inspection, "and you always prided yourself on your powers of observation. But it is not, alas, though I know it would delight you, my finger which bears the ring of cloying responsibility."

"Then who?" His mother snapped out, before her eyes landed squarely on Harry, and the right hand held casually at his side.

"Come forward, child," she commanded peremptorily.

Harry raised his own eyebrow at her, but did as bade.

"Show me your hand." Walburga Black continued, raging curiosity forcing her to lean forward in her chair, in spite of the crippling indignity of it.

Her husband was less restrained, and came forward from his stand behind her to stare with open interest as Harry presented his hand to them.

They were silent for a few moments. Walburga's face remained frozen save for a faint frown, whilst Orion's, behind a thin mask of pureblood inscrutability, was a mass of confusion.

He spoke first. "You're a Potter?"

"I am; my father was James Potter." He began, before adding, "Dorea Black was my grandmother."

Orion nodded slowly. "Dear Dorea," he murmured, "I do miss her. Perhaps a portrait of hers could be brought here from one of the Potter properties? I fear she does not have one in any of the Black houses."

Harry nodded immediately. "Of course, if one exists, and she proves amenable to such a move."

Walburga had been eyeing Harry thoughtfully with narrowed eyes.

"Halfblood." She burst out abruptly in a vicious whisper, sudden comprehension now burning in those gray depths.

Harry turned his attention back to her, and inclined his head slowly in acknowledgement of her words, maintaining the icy poise he had carefully adopted.

"To a certain extent," he agreed, "although my mother was muggleborn, rather than a muggle."

This almost set her back to screaming again; he could see the war on her face between pureblood stoicism and pureblood prejudice. Whilst his wife was struggling, Orion spoke again.

"Well," he began, frowning faintly, "it's never happened before, of course, but you do have Black blood, and must possess some redeeming features for the ring and wards to have accepted you."

Harry smiled at him slightly. "Thanks, I think, I can only pray that my redeeming features prove sufficient in your eyes."

Orion's eyes twinkled slightly in amusement. "Well, it helps that you seem intelligent enough, and I suppose that, if you really are two of The Twenty, then the Blacks may once more return to prominence." The frown returned. "Although I don't like the prospect of my house playing second fiddle to that of the Potters."

Harry reassured him smoothly. "I assure you that I possess no such intention; I have had more conscious contact with Sirius, and your wife and you, than with my own parents. I haven't been to the Potter territories since I was a baby, and I am happy to consider myself as much a Black as I am a Potter."

Orion eyed him for a while longer before nodding, ever so faintly, in approval. His wife seemed unimpressed.

"Orion." She said sharply, snapping her head around to face him, completely ignoring Harry. "You truly believe that a halfblood Light-wizard can be the Lord Black."

Orion looked at her consideringly. "I do." He said quietly. "Besides, I fear we have little say in the matter; he is accepted."

She glared for a while longer, before turning back to Harry with a newfound graciousness.

"I must apologise for my earlier outburst..." here she paused to aim a vicious glare at a wholly unaffected Sirius, "for I find the return of my eldest son somewhat vexing. Your existence surprised me. I have now seen reason, and am sorry to have caused offence. You are Lord Black, my loyalty is yours." She finished, finally inclining that proud head.

Harry smiled at her, thinking internally that she would give even Aunt Mim a run for her money in the apologising-without-sounding-like-you-were stakes.

Orion finally permitted himself to smile properly. "Welcome to the family, great-nephew."

Harry grinned back. "Thank you, great-uncle."

Sirius had finally lost his composure, and was now looking faintly shocked.

He shook his head after a moment, before leading Harry and Remus through the double doors Orion and Walburga's portraits flanked. He ignored Kreacher completely, abandoning the elf with the luggage.

* * *

They found themselves in a drawing room the size of a tennis court, windows looking out over the square. Sirius threw himself down in front of a black marble fireplace in the wall opposite the windows, Harry and Remus followed him more cautiously, mindful of the furniture, which was elegant and spindly and French.

"Well," he began, summoning a bottle of firewhiskey from the drinks cabinet, uncorking it and taking swig before continuing. "They seem to like you more than me."

The prevalent emotion in his voice was relief, but Harry could sense the hurt underneath the surface. Remus could too, apparently.

"Sirius," he interjected firmly, "they treated you abysmally. They raised you and judged you according to a twisted and vicious moral code. You should be proud; you broke free. You forged your own path, formed your own convictions."

Sirius looked startled, apparently having thought he was a better actor, but nodded slowly as he mulled over his friend's words.

"I suppose," he sighed briefly. "Maybe Harry can reform them."

"Perhaps," he replied.

They sat in silence for a while, watching Sirius drink until Remus decided to take the bottle away from him.

Sirius glared at him for a few moments, before his face relaxed and he waved a hand around tipsily.

"Welcome to Grimmauld Place! London home of the Blacks for a thousand years." He said, slurring faintly.

"Thank you, Sirius," said Harry, before calling for 'Kreacher'. He hadn't ever met a house-elf before, but knew about them from books, and didn't approve of their being used. However, he also hadn't the faintest idea where anything was in the house, and Sirius was in no state to tell him

Kreacher popped into existence in front of his chair, so bent over it took Harry a moment to realise he was bowing and not practicing his yoga.

"Master Lord Black! I am honoured to serve you."

"It's Harry. You can stand up properly, too."

Kreacher slowly raised his head and looked at Harry through wide, liquid, eyes with astonishment.

Harry continued before the elf could speak. "Can you tell me where Sirius' bedroom is?" He asked quickly.

The elf nodded rapidly, glancing around at the now drowsy drunk.

"Master Sirius, filthy traitor, has a room near to poor Master Regulus' on the second floor."

Remus finally came back into the conversation.

"If you'd guide me there," he inquired politely of the elf, "then I'll take him up to bed."

The elf looked towards Harry for confirmation, who nodded, before leading Remus and a gently levitated Sirius from the room.

Harry sighed, internally, as he leant back and hoped that Remus would prove sufficient to help Sirius for the moment. He'd have to wait until he'd got the kiss-on-sight order dropped to contact a specialist from St. Mungo's; not even a psychiatrist's client confidientiality vows would prevent them from informing the ministry about an escaped convict so notorious.

He'd have to go and meet with Fudge fairly soon. He'd decided to turn up completely without warning, numerous reasons making him think that an immediate meeting would be entirely possible, and knowing that he would be able to get more out of a politician famed for his lack of improvisational skills, even if it was possible Dumbledore would forewarn him.

Kreacher winked back into existence beside his chair with a faint pop, ears once again scraping the floor.

"Do you have to bow every time you see me?" Harry asked, unable to suppress the tinge of exasperation.

"I must not fail show the proper respect to the Lord Black, my lord." Kreacher replied, voice muffled.

"Fine, until I can arrange a more permanent solution, then I order you not to bow. I also order…" he added hastily, "that you not inflict any punishment upon yourself, whether for self-perceived wrongs or otherwise. I take it by your presence that Sirius is settled."

"Master Sirius is asleep now," the confused elf replied nervously.

"Excellent. I'll be getting some workmen and decorators in sometime in the next few weeks to make the house presentable again." Harry said.

"Kreacher has failed," the elf moaned miserably, though prevented from punishing himself by Harry's edict, he was relieved to note.

"You've done an excellent job," Harry assured him. "From what I have seen I wouldn't have believed it possible for a single elf to maintain such a large house to nearly as excellent a standard. I would just like to modernise somewhat."

Kreacher flinched instinctively at the word.

"Would you show me to a room please, Kreacher?" Harry asked politely, rising.

Kreacher nodded happily. "Of course, my lord. Kreacher has already taken his lordship's cases."

"How did you know which were mine?" He asked curiously.

"Kreacher was able to sense Lord Black's enchantments." Kreacher said seriously, before adding respectfully, "Lord Black is very powerful wizard."

Kreacher led him up two flights of stairs to the second floor; the ground and first being occupied largely by the public rooms, most of which occupied both storeys.

Kreacher opened a pair of highly polished double doors and led Harry inside.

"The Lord Black's chambers," he said proudly.

"Very impressive," Harry murmured as he took in the large sitting room they were in. Kreacher showed him a study off to one side, and an empty room to the other, which Harry surmised had been added more to provide a pair of doors in each of the room's four walls than for any practical purpose.

The bedroom opposite the entryway was, naturally, huge. Apparently this part of the building projected partially into the house's central court, for windows lined the far wall and part of each side wall. A ridiculous four-poster stood in the centre; a menacingly black-draped shape on its dais.

Harry was impressed when Kreacher showed him a well-appointed bathroom adjoining the left side of the room, and an equally sized dressing room to the right; apparently the Blacks hadn't been quite as outmoded as they seemed.

Kreacher moved nervously to the cases stood by the entrance to the dressing room. "Kreacher would have unpacked for Lord Black, but cannot open master's luggage."

Harry found himself relieved that even an elf apparently now bound to him was unable to get past the enchantments.

"That's fine Kreacher, I'll do it." He said cheerfully, walking over to unlock the cases manually. He waved a hand to draw the clothes out, noting that the space expansion charms he had worked, which tripled internal volume, were holding well on the expensive-but-muggle luggage.

A moment of concentration sent the clothes flying onto rails, separating by type and colour-coding themselves. Harry had a lot of clothes, both because he was interested in them and because his aunt was an obsessive shopper, but even when his Aunt brought the rest of his wardrobe over with her he surmised that the space would be less than a quarter full. He supposed that half would belong to a future partner, but that still left a lot of robes to buy, especially when he considered the number of other houses he now possessed.

"Would you be willing to prepare us a late lunch?" He asked Kreacher, who nodded eagerly.

"If master will give me permission to buy food?"

Harry handed over some galleons, taken from an expanded pocket of the nondescript robes he was still wearing. Once Kreacher had gone, and he'd decided that with Sirius comatose they were unlikely to leave the house again that day, Harry changed back into dark jeans and a slim-cut white shirt.

He wandered back into the study he'd been shown earlier. His curiosity and disgust were piqued in equal measure as he looked along titles of shelved volumes that filled three of the walls.

He only really noticed the large portrait on the wall behind the desk when its occupant woke and cleared his throat.

Harry turned to look at him, and found a handsome man who looked to be in late middle-age, eyeing him closely out of shrewd gray eyes.

"Good afternoon." Harry said, slipping back behind a pureblood mask.

"Good afternoon." The man replied neutrally. "Am I to assume that you are the new Lord Black? I felt the wards shifting and realigning themselves this morning."

Harry masked any hint of surprise; a portrait should have been able to sense little beyond their own observations.

"I am. My name is Harry."

"Mine is Arcturus, and I was Lord Black from 1743 to 1865."

"I am honoured to meet so distinguished an ancestor, and would be further so to benefit from your counsel in the years to come." Harry replied, smoothly forming the platitudes.

Arcturus raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. "I am pleased to find an heir who addresses me with the proper courtesy. Might I see the ring?" He inquired politely.

Harry raised his hand once more.

Arcturus frowned, but was clearly a more efficient processor of information than either of his descendants had been.

"Lord Potter as well, very interesting." He mused quietly, before frowning again. "Why can't I feel your power?" He asked, "You're not a squib, are you?"

Harry actually snorted. "You have so little faith in the Black inheritance protections that you can believe them accepting an heir with no magic? Besides, few wizards can actually detect a person's magic under normal circumstances, and a portrait shouldn't be able to do so at all..."

Arcturus glared at him, Harry thought, slightly huffily. "I was one of the greatest wizards of my age. This portrait was painted by Montague Chauxton." He said, as though these two statements made sense of everything.

Harry thought. Chauxton had been the most famous wizarding portraitist of the mid-19th century, and his subjects were famous for possessing all of the character their sitters had possessed. But that still wouldn't have been enough.

"You poured a considerable amount of your own magic and spirit into the portrait I take it?" He asked.

Arcturus actually smiled properly. "I did. An unusual little ritual I adapted, which allowed me to keep both until the moment of my death, at which point the spells took hold and some of my nature and magic was conduited directly into the paint. I believe myself to be one of the most unusual paintings in existence." He said with a hint of pride.

"You would be," Harry murmured to himself.

"Anyway," Arcturus broke back in, not a long way from impatient, "why can I not sense your magic?"

Harry shrugged. "Because I keep it shielded. Even if you were here in person I doubt you would be able to feel anything."

People seemed to be frowning in confusion a lot today, Harry thought amusedly.

"Whilst it's impressive that you can do such a thing, particularly when you appear to be no more than sixteen, I fail to see why you would wish to?" Arcturus inquired finally, apparently under the impression he was being circumspect.

"I've just turned fourteen, actually." Harry told him.

Arcturus' eyes widened marginally in surprise, but he was sharp enough not to be diverted, and sat in his high-backed chair, which Harry noticed now was the one behind the study's actual desk, waiting patiently for a response.

"Well," Harry began, unwilling to be completely tied down in his response to a portrait he could only trust in theory, and suspected was wily enough to escape the loyalty clauses that supposedly tied him to the living Lord Black. "I've lived most of my life in the muggle world, deliberately avoiding the magical until I came of sufficient age to inherit, and gain the attendant protections."

This did seem to divert Arcturus. "Why would you be afraid of being in the magical world?"

"I prefer 'circumspect' to 'afraid'. I suspect you know of Albus Dumbledore?"

Arcturus nodded. "The man was born a few years before I died, I believe, although not to one of the great families. I am told he has carved out considerable power for himself in Britain, or that he had whilst there were still living Blacks able to bring me information from the outside world." He shook his head, "A light wizard should never have been allowed to gain so much influence."

"Perhaps not," Harry conceded. "But anyway, he is the only currently known Lord-level wizard in Britain, which, in spite of his undoubted insanity, gives him considerable power automatically."

Here Harry recounted what he knew, or had surmised, of recent events and his childhood, as he had for Sirius, but including the bits Sirius would have known already. He was impressed when Arcturus' expression didn't change when he was told of his mother's birth status, and found himself surprisingly glad to tell his tale to someone unknown to him, but who he could put a certain amount of confidence in.

He finished about half an hour later, his retelling helped when Arcturus didn't interrupt to ask questions, but sat listening intently.

"Interesting." Was his initial comment. "I never supported Orion and Walburga trying to disinherit Sirius, although I confess it was something of a disappointment when he somehow ended up in Gryffindor."

He sat thinking. "I think your parents did well, under the circumstances, to make alternative arrangements. I knew of Dumbledore's defeat of Grindelwald, of course, though had not realised the full scope of the power he appears to have amassed in its wake." His next comment surprised Harry. "I think I would like to meet this aunt of yours; she appears to be a most admirable woman, in spite of her unfortunate birth." He nodded approvingly. "From what you have told me your education so far seems to have been more than adequate, and I am impressed by your intelligence. I suspect that there are things you have not yet told me of, but hope that will come to trust me."

Harry grinned at him. "Thank you, I desire greatly to benefit from your counsel."

Arcturus inclined his head nobly, giving Harry a faint smile as he stepped from the office.

As soon as he had exited Kreacher appeared next to him, apparently unable to access the study directly.

"Your lunch is ready, my lord," he said, eyes respectfully lowered, even if his back remained unbent.

"Cheers, Kreacher, could you tell Sirius, I assume Remus stayed with him, and then come back and guide me?"

Kreacher nodded eagerly, disappearing for a short while before popping back to him. He took Harry back down the sweeping marble staircase, and guided him to what he was told was the 'Small Dining Room', whose table would still have been quite sufficient to seat twenty.

Sirius appeared in the doorway, bright-eyed after a nap and hangover potion, followed by Remus. They seated themselves around one end of the table, where Kreacher had laid out three place settings, Sirius bullying Harry into taking the head. The elf arrived as soon as they were settled, levitating a number of plates and cloche-covered dishes onto the table.

Kreacher apologised for not having done anything more complicated because of the time pressure, but still proceeded to present them with a whole dressed salmon, six types of vegetable and a number of salads.

Sirius complained about the food, but Harry and Remus complimented Kreacher politely, used to this type of fare from living around Aunt Mim.

They kept conversation light and cheerful, Harry and Remus spending several minutes jokingly suggesting possible career-paths for Sirius.

He stopped them when Remus, who was finding the wine unexpectedly strong, suggested he become a gigolo.

"So, what are you going to do for the rest of the summer, Harry?"

"Well, I've told Kreacher that I'll be getting the decorators in," he said eyeing the dark room, "although I can't do that until my return becomes fully public."

"Which will be when?" Remus inquired, apparently having pulled himself together.

"The fifteenth," Harry replied immediately, "well, the morning papers of the sixteenth, most likely, after the Wizengamot meeting on the ides."

Sirius nodded, slightly confusedly, but had already come to trust his godson, and know that he was unlikely to be dissuaded from a course of action he seemed already to have decided on.

"I met Lord Arcturus." Harry said.

Sirius' eyes widened. "I take it you visited the study, then. How did your conversation go?" He asked nervously.

"Well, I think we're pretty much best friends."

Sirius rolled his eyes, calming down somewhat.

"He terrorised my father."

"Apparently not sufficiently to prevent his attempts to disinherit you."

Sirius looked surprised.

"Arcturus tried to persuade him not to." Harry explained.

"I never knew that," Sirius mused thoughtfully.

Harry left him with his thoughts as he ate, conversing lightly with Remus.

They were surprised by Kreacher's proudly presenting them with an enormous Pavlova once they'd finished their first course. They all helped themselves to generous servings, still heaping praises on the elf for the excellent salmon.

Sirius gave them a tour of the house after their meal, showing them the large dining room, which could seat more than three hundred, the ballroom, which could accommodate them for dancing, and the formal sitting room, library and portrait gallery. The kitchens and storerooms were underground, along with wine cellars, dungeons, and a torture chamber Sirius promised hadn't been used for at least thirty years.

What parts of the first floor the double height public rooms didn't occupy was taken up largely by bedrooms for important guests. The second held the master suite, alongside the family bedrooms, the private library and lounge, and a number of studies. The third floor comprised the staff quarters.

The whole experience took nearly three hours, as an interested Harry asked Sirius about various objet d'arts, and introduced himself to the paintings in the gallery, who he gathered had been informed of his existence by both Walburga and Arcturus.

* * *

They retired to the private library on the family floor, a surprisingly cosy room for a family as notoriously formal as the Blacks. The collection seemed to be considerably more questionable in nature than the one on the floor below, but still noticeably tamer than some of the volumes in the master's study.

Sirius had been informed of the likelihood of Voldemort's survival, and had, truth be told, been unsurprised; being brought up in the sort of family Sirius had been had inevitably given him knowledge of various dark rituals. That Voldemort's body had never been found, nor his robes or wand, had sustained the hopes of the dark-declared families for more than a decade, as they sought someone to counter Dumbledore in vain.

Harry had returned to Britain fully expecting to face Voldemort again, and likely Dumbledore as well at some point. Sirius had agreed with this assessment, and would have stayed in exile with Harry, Remus and Aunt Mim had it not been for Harry's absolute determination to return. As it was, he'd elected to help Harry in any way he could.

It wasn't until he'd had a few days' worth of conversation with Harry that he realised how little there was to teach him. Hopping between continents and specialist tutors had given Harry an incredible breadth of knowledge, aided by the access to rare books almost limitless funds had provided him with.

They sat quietly in the library, reading and conversing quietly in front of the fire Kreacher had lit, quite unnecessary in August, until dinner time.

Kreacher had had more time for this meal, so they were treated to a beautifully rare joint of beef served with a bewildering array of accompaniments. A crème brûlée constituted dessert, again, expertly done.

"Kreacher used to be the head kitchen elf under my parents," Sirius told them. "In my childhood we had a staff of more than a dozen elves here in London alone." His brow wrinkled. "Unfortunately they're nearly all dead by now. You saw my mother's wall of their heads earlier."

Harry frowned. "Well, that's going to have to change. I'll free Kreacher and employ him properly. Then I'll make up the staff with either humans or elves, whoever turns out best and is willing to work for me"

Sirius stared at him as though he'd grown a second head, whilst Remus smiled quietly in the background.

"You… you can't actually mean to free Kreacher?" He asked, horrified. "He's worked for the family since before Grindelwald's fall."

"And may he continue to do so; I just plan to alter the terms of his employment."

"But… house elves aren't employed." Sirius said, confusedly. "They're bound by their very nature to serve wizards; their health and magic relies upon it."

"Is that what your mother told you?" Harry questioned drily.

"There are no sentient creatures that can possibly be bound by their very nature, to wizards or otherwise. It's a ridiculous charade that British wizards and elves have been acting out for so long they've come to believe in it; arrogance and wilful ignorance dismissing scientific papers, and actual evidence, from overseas. It's just a way for a lot of families to live an easy life they couldn't otherwise afford, and salve their consciences of the suggestion of actual slave labour." Only by maintaining a detached tone was Harry able to prevent himself from sounding like he was ranting.

"Quite apart from anything else, wealthy families, and The Noble Houses, actually lose prestige by their pressing elves into service; three hundred years ago it was a sign that one couldn't afford to pay servants. Unfortunately, the inevitable attractions of reliable and easily available slave labour ensured its ubiquity."

"He's right, you know," Remus added helpfully. "It's something I researched during my rage-against-the-ministry's-maligning-of-non-human-species years."

"Snappy."

Remus rolled his eyes.

Sirius drew himself back together. "You're determined to change the world?" He asked Harry piercingly.

Harry shrugged. "Amongst other things."


	6. Chapter 6

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-VI-

Harry had an excellent night's sleep, well, once he'd removed the masses of black drapes from his bed, which were of sufficiently cloying weight to make a vampire happy. Luckily, the sheets themselves were fine silk, although also in black, and with a shine that Harry thought made them look like they came from a brothel.

He spent the next morning, after an early breakfast, alone, and run, also alone, musing over interior design philosophies. He'd decided that he had nothing more pressing to think about for a few days at least. Unfortunately, whilst his penmanship was excellent, his draughtsmanship was mediocre. A quarter of an hour fiddling about with various charms, a consultation with Kreacher, and an enormous roll of parchment soon solved that issue, however. Luckily, the house itself seemed eager to help with his project, and guided his spells as they drew an exact plan, floor-by-floor, onto the paper. He didn't even have to go to each room individually, as he had initially anticipated, but rather was able to stand in the marble-clad entrance hall with the parchment merrily unrolling itself as it filled in front of him.

Once this was done, a far more complicated series of spells he'd once found in a book on magical design and architecture enabled him to draw up full colour and exactly-to-scale representations of each room from the plans, in filmy three dimension.

Orion and Walburga, who had been watching interestedly from their portraits, seemed so impressed by the display that their initial horror over the alteration of their interiors was forgotten. By this point it was lunchtime, which a sleepy Remus and Sirius managed to attend, having drunk rather a lot and stayed up quite late the night before.

Sirius seemed more laid back than his parents about Harry's activities.

"It's your right anyway, of course, but as far as I'm concerned the more you change the better; my mother always had slightly dour tastes."

After the meal, a superb pasta dish with cream and truffles, Sirius and Remus went off together to work out the finer details of the story Remus would tell Dumbledore about his years in the wilderness.

Harry, meanwhile, went back to his models, which the house had happily held in stasis while he ate. Obviously, it was difficult to work out the smallest details; exact designs of cornicing, fireplace mouldings, and favourite curtain fabrics were things even Harry's prodigious memory found it difficult to drag up. The process of imprinting change upon the models, however, was easier than expected. He was sufficiently connected to his magic for it to, when he was fully concentrated, mould itself according to nothing but his will, even filling in the gaps his imagination hadn't quite managed to.

Despite the Blacks' name, Grimmauld place was largely white inside. The Black colours were, technically, both black and white, Harry thinking flippantly that an ancestor had added white when it turned out that painting the insides of a house black wasn't usually aesthetically successful. Walburga had done her best, however, and most of the building's furnishings were in black; curtains, upholstery, ebony furniture, rugs. She hadn't stopped there however, and added the fitted carpets of several rooms, and the ceilings of a few more, to the tribute she was paying her surname.

Harry liked the black and the white, but wanted more of a severe elegance, at least in public rooms, than the present gothic fantasy. Using his models, he threw out the heaviest furntiture, and added more of the delicate Georgian pieces that filled the drawing room; frames still ebony, but upholstery now white.

The ceilings were returned to white, although he retained the delicately gilded mouldings, the curtains also bleached. The carpets became off-white when he decided he was veering too far from gloom and into starkness.

He would consult with a proper designer, and probably his aunt, to finalise the plans, but was delighted with his progress, and, wryly self-congratulatory, excellent taste. Orion appeared pleased by the models Harry hovered in front of him for a closer look, and Walburga had given herself entirely into the excitement of the project, stern mask almost entirely gone as she chattered away. Harry's diplomacy was severely taxed in refusing most of her suggestions, although she did tell him that much furniture was stored away in the attics, under heavy preservation charms.

It was an entertaining afternoon, even when Arcturus deigned to come down and join in, approving the plans solely on the basis of them reminding him somewhat of the Black homes of his youth.

None of the old-guard were terribly pleased when Harry decided to completely refit every bathroom into full wet rooms, expanding the already enormous inset tubs and adding huge shower stalls. The gym and Olympic-sized swimming pool in the cellars also failed to make it past the committee, but Harry ignored them. At least they liked the new potions labs, and a fencing strip located directly underneath the duelling one on the ground floor.

Harry's deliberately provocative suggestion that he install tennis and badminton courts in the central court was met with the expected horror, and Harry, whose real intention it had never been, moved them off into the left-hand court, invisible from the main public rooms.

He spent an hour fiddling with his private rooms before finishing up, binding the spells to the parchment, so that it could be rolled but not lose the information.

He and Sirius had decided to go down to Italy for a couple of days so they could stock their wizarding wardrobes; Harry's being largely muggle, Sirius' twenty years old. They'd offered Remus the opportunity, but he, being interested in neither clothes nor shopping, had decided to stay behind. It was for this reason that they sat down to dinner early, both of them being eager to leave at a reasonable time the next morning.

Apparently Sirius had met an elderly tailor on the outskirts of Milan during his travels. He was famous, but had been forced out of his own business by ambitious children, and now lived alone with his wife, who herself had woven his fabrics. It was him they were flying out to meet, before going on to the designers in the city itself.

They could have got to Italy via international floo stations; hops of a couple of hundred miles were possible, but they still wanted to remain anonymous, and every appearance in public risked their cover unnecessarily. It was, therefore, for security that Harry boarded the charter jet at the muggle airport the next morning accompanied by a large black dog, which resolved itself into Sirius once they were airborne. Only accompanying dogs being unusual in the wizarding world, and Gringotts being warded against transformed animagi, had prevented him from becoming Snuffles during their trip to Diagon Street.

He'd offered to help teach Harry how to become an animagus, only to be shocked when Harry told him he'd already managed it. Thankfully, in spite of being unable to use wizarding methods of transport for the time being, the flight was less than three hours, and it was little more than another after landing that their car rolled up at the small and ancient villa in the wizarding village where Sirius' friend lived.

* * *

Harry was glamoured, and Sirius back as Snuffles, as they knocked at the door and asked the maid for Master Anstruti. They were greeted in a small receiving room by a man who must have been more than a hundred, getting old even by wizarding standards, but who seemed fit, healthy, and sharp. He inspected the boy and his dog closely.

"You're glamoured," he said, pointing at Harry, "and you're human," he said to Sirius.

At this, the dog barked cheerfully and transformed back.

The man's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, before he stepped forward, grinning broadly, to shake the proffered hand.

"My friend," he said happily.

"Antonio," Sirius said warmly.

Harry fought to keep his own surprise away from his features; he knew the Italian knew who Sirius really was, and that they'd gotten on well, but not that they were quite this close.

"And your companion?" Antonio inquired politely, turning back towards Harry.

Before Harry could reply, Sirius had.

"Antonio, you promise to extend your tailor's confidentiality to both of your prospective clients, at least for the time being?"

The man looked slightly confused.

"Of course, I have always offered complete discretion."

Sirius nodded, and Harry was also satisfied, having gently checked the man for Occlumency barriers, which he found strong and entrenched.

He let his glamour fall, and the man's eyes widened appreciatively.

"He is gorgeous," he said admiringly, apparently to Sirius, before the look of faint confusion returned. "But I fear that I am missing something, with all of this need for secrecy. I understand it with you, of course, and offered my assurances at our first meetings, but I do not believe that this youth can have escaped Azkaban also."

Sirius chuckled drily, "No, he didn't," before looking inquiringly at Harry, who nodded resignedly.

He raised a hand to his forehead, and concentrated for a moment before drawing the glamour that covered his scar carefully onto his palm; he didn't want to dispel it as a blood glamour of this strength would take hours to reweave.

Once Harry removed his hand, the old man nearly fell over, and actually did clutch at his chest.

"It cannot be," he gasped out.

Whilst Harry was concerned for his health, Sirius was grinning broadly.

"We should do that more often, Pup" he said to Harry, who glared at him.

"I fear that there isn't much opportunity to, and I certainly don't want to announce my return having accidentally killed some poor person with a weak heart."

Sirius pouted, though thankfully Antonio seemed to have recovered somewhat.

"I am honoured to meet you, Lord Potter." He said, bowing slightly.

Sirius' pout deepened. "You didn't bow to me when we first met, and I was at least mostly a Lord then, too."

"You were also an escaped convict," than man replied sharply, "a state of affairs I have no knowledge of having been rectified."

"That will be happening shortly," Harry assured him smoothly, before continuing. "I am delighted to meet you, Master Anstruti," inclining his own head respectfully.

The old man grinned, by now apparently having quite got over his surprise.

"The feeling is mutual, Lord Potter."

"He's Lord Black as well" interjected Sirius helpfully.

"My apologies."

Harry rolled his eyes exasperatedly, enjoying the interplay between the two in spite of himself.

"Your English is excellent," he commented inquiringly.

Antonio smiled. "Many of my customers came from England, certainly a lot of the richest ones."

Harry smiled back. "A wise business decision then. My godfather and I were wondering whether we could tempt you out of retirement to produce some pieces for us. We would pay you very well for your work."

Antonio's smile broadened into a grin. "I have been bored here. I refuse to produce anything for my children, and they run my business now, and the other Italian tailors and designers, they have too much pride to permit them to exhibit my work. I would love to dress you, Lord Potter-Black, and you, my friend," he finished, throwing an arm around Sirius' shoulder.

Harry was struck by an idea. "Antonio, if I may call you that, if you're being kept out of the market here, why not come to England with us, and set up your business there? You say you are bored, I'd be happy to provide any capital you'd need to start up, and you say many of your most affluent customers were from England anyway."

He was thankful that old man looked delighted by his suggestion, which Sirius was nodding vigorously in agreement with.

Antonio qualified his expression slightly. "But you have not yet seen any of my clothes," he began... "and you are too young to have seen any when I was still in business."

Harry shrugged lightly. "I've seen some designs."

Antonio's face cleared. "I have substantial savings," he began, "but would be grateful for your help when I understand property in London is so cripplingly expensive."

"I believe I have several frontages on Diagon Street, a couple may even be free at the moment. You can choose whichever you'd like. I'll give you that, as well as workshop space and a house, all rent-free, for ten percent of your profits."

"Do you always do business so fast, Pup?" Sirius questioned amusedly.

"Sometimes," Harry said, shaking hands with his new business partner. "Besides, I want to us to be friends with Antonio."

Sirius looked slightly confused, but let it pass.

"Let me introduce you to Lucretia," Antonio interrupted excitedly, before leaving for a minute and coming back dragging a woman who looked to be around his own age, but also fit and healthy, behind him.

"Tesoro," he said to his wife, presenting her to Harry, "The-Boy-Who-Lived. Lord Potter-Black, my wife, Lucretia."

The kind-faced woman's eyes widened as she saw Harry's scar, before she clasped his hand warmly.

"I am pleased to meet you."

"And I you" replied Harry, before going in to kiss both cheeks in the French fashion, making her blush slightly.

Shortly afterwards the maid brought refreshments through, and they sat to discuss arrangements. Harry and Sirius ordered a large number of robes and other clothes of various descriptions, paying generously, in full and advance. Harry said he would send Antonio pictures of the possible retail spaces, with a view to him and his wife moving in a couple of months' time.

They left well satisfied, and went into the centre of Milan to have lunch, risotto, in a muggle restaurant. They spent the part of the afternoon in the muggle city, part in the magical, and bought a lot of clothes. Harry, managed to persuade the retailers to get alterations done in a matter of hours, making sure to leave generous tips.

They stayed in a hotel in the muggle city that night, and explored the following day. Harry had never been to Milan before; his aunt was more interested in Paris and London for fashion, and they'd never gotten around to a visit when they'd been in northern Italy before. Sirius, luckily, had spent a few weeks there when on the run and was able to give him a guided tour.

They flew back to London that the evening, with the last of the alterations having been made, and several of the bespoke pieces fast-tracked enough to go with them. The set of magical luggage Harry had ordered had spent the previous night being altered and charmed to his specifications. He now had a number of sleek cases bound in fine Hungarian Horntail hide and delicately chased in silver. He'd had the strongest enlargement and stability charms the craftsman was able to do placed upon them, but had elected to do his own security, tracking, and sorting spells.

Sirius, who had not only decided not to buy his own trunks, but forgotten to bring the ones he already had at Grimmauld place, had to put his shopping in Harry's.

They arrived back to find Remus muttering about the useless idle rich jetting around the continent on shopping expeditions. Harry and Sirius pointedly ignored him.

* * *

"Well, this is a nice surprise." Aunt Mim exclaimed warmly when Harry stepped out of the car to meet her on the airport tarmac. They stood to one side as the ground crew and driver transferred her belongings from the plane.

Harry shrugged. "I wanted to welcome you back properly. Anyway, I missed you." He admitted, hugging her.

"I missed you too, Harry." She said, returning the embrace.

They chatted quietly about the events of their week apart until the car was loaded. Harry had made sure to have a second on hand, knowing how much his aunt moved with, and they got into the first whilst the crew began on the other.

A few minutes into the drive, Harry turned to face his Aunt seriously.

"There was actually another reason I wanted to meet you before we reached Grimmauld Place." He said.

She eyed him with good-humoured suspicion. "The place isn't a wreck, is it?"

"Not at all," Harry assured her, "It's a bit gothic and tasteless, but the rooms we're using at the moment are clean, and even you'll be impressed by its size. I've started on some plans to redecorate, actually, and wanted to ask for your input on those.

Anyway, I know it's not your birthday, but I wanted to give you this before you start spending a lot of time in the magical world." He said, drawing out a medium sized jewellery case.

She took it with a faint frown, which vanished as she opened it and picked up a bracelet.

"It's beautiful," she breathed softly, admiring it, "it must have cost a fortune."

Harry smiled. "You know the price is largely immaterial, but it did take me a while to find one exactly right. I wanted a plain piece, so you can wear it all the time in the magical world, and one with a significant weight of flawless diamonds that had been in their setting for a long time. It also had to have been in a magical environment for more than a century, by my calculations."

His aunt looked faintly puzzled. "But why? And why on earth is this so important in the magical world?"

"Because I've spent the last six months enchanting it, in anticipation of this. Most of the stronger spells needed the qualities I listed to settle properly, and nearly all of them wouldn't work if you weren't a muggle anyway; another witch or wizard's magic would not feel comfortable around mine."

"So what exactly does it do?"

"Well, we've told you about Occlumency and Legilimency, and whilst it's difficult for a Legilimens to focus on a mind that doesn't hum with magic, the bracelet should actually prevent any attack from succeeding. Some deeply questionable spells I found, which rely on our sharing blood, should also allow you to apparate to me if you hold the bracelet and will it to happen. Well," he explained more thoroughly, "it technically allows the bracelet to reach out to me through our blood, and for me to then focus on that link and apparate you to me.

It should also warn me if you're seriously injured, or under magical attack. I've managed to tether some defensive charms to the stones as well, and although they won't be able to block powerful curses, they should provide some form of additional protection. I'm currently trying to work out a way for us to communicate through it, but everything I've found or hypothesised so far relies on you having to cast a spell. I should be able to contact you through it, however."

His Aunt looked impressed. "I don't need to know a lot about the specifics of magic to realise that this must have been hugely complicated." She paused. "It's also slightly concerning that you deem all of this necessary." She spoke again hastily when Harry looked ready to interrupt. "No, I'm not worried about my own safety; I'm on the periphery of all this at best, and have lived a dangerous life anyway. I'm concerned for you, as any guardian would be in my position."

Harry decided to be blunt. "I may well die in all of this, from what I know at the moment, but I make that choice freely." He shrugged. "A life without risk is no fun. I feel guilty about endangering others, but I'm not going to refuse them if they decide to play the game with me, of their own free will. Objectively, of course, Remus and Sirius have everything to gain and little to lose as things stand. I'm the same, at least with regard to not actually being a part of the wizarding world at the moment."

Aunt Mim nodded reluctantly, musing distantly that it seemed peculiar for her to meekly be accepting her adopted son's contemplation of his own death, particularly when he'd just turned fourteen, but then, Harry had never been normal. She could also understand his desire to return to his own world, and at least he was doing so in a controlled manner, and with his eyes wide open. She couldn't have but faith, and give him what limited support she could.

She put on the bracelet, getting Harry to fasten the delicate clasp. She was surprised to actually feel a prickle of magic against her skin.

"It's just bonding to you," Harry reassured her.

She sat back, and they continued to chat inconsequentially as they made their way into the city. They arrived eventually at the muggle townhouse in Belgravia that the Blacks had had linked to Grimmauld Place, and which was accessible now that the wards had accepted Harry. Exactly why the most notoriously muggle-hating of the aristocratic families had decided they wanted a way into muggle London, Harry wasn't entirely sure, but suspected it was for nothing good.

Harry opened to door, and helped the driver bring the cases up to the entrance hall, whilst his Aunt wandered around the house she would be using for the 'muggle' part of her life. She came down the stairs just as they were finishing, and pronounced herself satisfied, though commented that her designers would be in the next day.

Once the driver had left, and the second car been similarly unloaded, Harry levitated the pile of cases in front of him as he guided his aunt through a pair of doors at the rear of the house, which looked like the entrance to Grimmauld Place, but opened out onto the middle of the driveway. Harry grinned as his aunt was unable to hide her shock at the sight.

"Do you have any idea how much this would be worth in Belgravia?" She asked him.

"Many hundreds of millions, I know." He grinned. "And property on Grimmauld Square is just as expensive in wizarding terms."

She stared again as they arrived in the entrance hall, before gathering herself to agree with Harry about the decor. He guided her up to a suite on the second floor near his own.

"I've stripped all of the magical objects from the rooms, as well as any of the room-specific wards. That means you should be able to use your phone and laptop here, although you'll need to have them in their cases in the rest of the house. The door there," he said indicating one next to the room's entry, "should take you straight back through to the house in Belgravia, although when returning you'll still arrive on the driveway; the wards wouldn't let me work it any other way."

She nodded in some semblance of understanding.

"Have you brought in staff yet?"

"Kreacher?" Harry called softly, and the elf popped into existence next to him a moment later.

Aunt Mim's eyes widened, but she otherwise maintained her facade.

"Aunt Mim, this is Kreacher, Kreacher this is my Aunt Mim."

Kreacher had been briefed in advance, and didn't even blink at being introduced to a muggle before bowing low.

"You really don't need to bow Kreacher."

Kreacher nodded vigorously, and took Aunt Mim's hand gingerly as she extended it to shake.

"Pleased to meet you, Kreacher," she said elegantly, completely poised once more.

"I am honoured, Mistress."

"Kreacher has taken care of the house entirely on his own whilst Sirius was incarcerated," Harry explained. "He and I have renegotiated the terms of his employment and agreed on working hours, conditions, and a stipend."

"Master is too kind," Kreacher said, visibly restraining himself from bowing.

"We're working on the whole mindless adoration thing." Harry told his Aunt.

She looked vaguely confused, but nodded agreeably.

"But surely you must have additional staff to manage a property of this size?" She questioned.

Harry nodded. "I hope to find a few more house elves, as well as humans, to employ. Where we might need fifty without magic, we shouldn't need more than twenty with it. We can recruit once everyone knows I'm back."

Aunt Mim looked mildly exasperated. "Slightly overdramatic, perhaps?"

"Possibly," Harry conceded, "But I suspect I'll make The Prophet."

* * *

The city of Antheon surrounded a large bay on the southern coast of magical Britain, and was surrounded in turn by mountains. The House of Potter had led the magical thrust accompanying the muggle invasion of Britain under Rome, but had rapidly come to an accord with the island's existing wizarding powers, taking a vast swathe of land as their commission for peace. Antheon sat comfortably in the middle of that territory and had prospered under the rule of the Potters for nigh on two thousand years.

"All yours, Pup." Sirius told Harry with a grin.

"Cheers." He responded drily, smiling fondly down on the beautiful city of honey-coloured stone below.

"Do you remember it?" Remus asked curiously.

Harry frowned.

"Vaguely, I was born here, after all." He recalled, before apparating from the bluff overlooking the city they were stood on.

The city gates stood open, two imposing edifices of polished bronze deeply carved and thirty feet in height.

The streets beyond were neatly paved in the same sandstone as the buildings, locals drifting about as the three of them wandered along broad boulevards lined with ancient-looking oaks.

"Lily planted those." Remus noted.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Impressive to have squeezed several centuries of growth into a couple of decades."

Sirius snorted. "James didn't like them. Said they interrupted his lines of fire."

Remus rolled his eyes amusedly.

"I don't think he'd quite grasped that the idea with a siege is to keep the enemy outside of the walls in the first place." He paused. "Not that the city ever actually was attacked during the last war. Voldemort was much too focused on slash-and-burn."

"I take it the wards have accepted you?" Sirius asked Harry curiously.

He nodded. "They're much friendlier than the Black ones. The wards on the gates almost purred at me."

Sirius laughed. "I remember James saying the same thing about them when he came back after a long time away."

"I take it you know where you're going, by the way?"

Sirius grinned. "Of course; James and I used to have lessons with old Felix during the summers. Merlin that man knows a lot."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "You found him boring?"

"They found him less interesting than Quidditch and girls." Remus interjected.

Sirius looked unabashed. "Well, obviously, but he really wasn't so bad. He bakes excellent cakes as well."

"A slightly unusual hobby for the Chief Senator to have." Harry noted.

"Not as odd as his wife being a plumber."

"I'm sorry?"

"Not really, I just wanted to see your face. No, she's an author. Writes romance rubbish for housewives."

"Someone I'm not looking forward to meeting."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"We're here." Remus interrupted their conversation as they arrived in front of an impressive three storey residence, set back from the street behind well-tended gardens. A liveried servant greeted them at the entrance.

Harry smiled brightly at him.

"Would it be possible to speak to the Senator?"

The servant eyed their glamoured appearances suspiciously for a moment, before apparently judging their clothing of sufficient quality to lead them to a receiving chamber.

"Might I take your names?"

"No." Sirius told him cheerfully.

The servant looked confused, but having welcomed them this far he probably felt committed, and disappeared to inform his employer of their presence.

They stood waiting for a little less than a minute before a man joined them.

"Welcome, visitors!" He said with affable enthusiasm, indicating them towards seats.

Felix Canens looked to have pushed well past his century. In spite of this, his frame was strong, his posture excellent, and his manner vigorous. Cropped white hair framed a tanned and square-jawed face. Pale green eyes took the three of them in with a startling acuity.

The inspection paused suddenly as he dropped from his chair and onto one knee in front of Harry, who had only a moment to think he was being proposed to before his hand was seized and the unglamoured Potter ring kissed.

"My lord. I rejoice at your return, my life and loyalty are yours."

Harry, recognising the seriousness of the situation, pushed away his tendency towards flippancy to rise from his own seat, lifting the other man with him.

"My patronage and protection are yours, dearest friend of mine family." He replied, embracing the man.

They released one another after a moment, stepping back. Harry noted that the other man looked slightly emotional.

"I'm impressed you recognised me." He said warmly.

The man chuckled.

"Truth be told, your arrival is not such a surprise, although I suspect that I am the only one who felt the city accept a new Lord. I remember the same happening when your father and grandfather took the ring. I have few strangers visit me now, and, in spite of the appearance you bear, you have a certain presence."

Harry grinned at him, and dropped his glamour.

The man examined him closely even as Sirius and Remus followed his lead.

"Your mother's eyes." He murmured. "Some resemblance to your father, and grandmother."

"And me." Sirius interjected indignantly.

The man's eyes widened slightly as he looked over, but his expression quickly smoothed.

"Mr Black." He said coolly. "I take it there is some reason for your presence?"

Sirius faked an indignant expression. "Most people are grateful for it." He replied huffily.

"You sure?" Questioned a smirking Remus.

Harry ignored the pair. "Sirius is innocent." He told the senator, who raised an eyebrow but was otherwise impassive.

"Then it would seem I am to be cursed by his presence once again." He said sardonically.

"Probably. I just felt that seeing as Azkaban had suffered him for twelve years, it seemed public spirited of someone to spare the dementors his presence at last."

Felix flashed him a grin before they both sat back down.

"Are you free for the next couple of hours?" Harry asked.

The man nodded. "Of course, my lord."

"Then, if you're willing to listen, I'll tell you most of what I know and where I've been. I hope that stops you wondering where to start the questioning."

The man smiled wryly. "Perhaps that would be the best approach."

Harry spoke for the next hour and a half, interrupted only by Remus and Sirius' interjections, and the servant from before serving refreshments.

"Fascinating." Murmured the old man as Harry reached the end of the tale he was becoming used to telling. "I take it that I am to keep knowledge of your return to myself for the time being?"

Harry nodded. "I'll be speaking to the Wizengamot on the fifteenth; my existence will become known after that. I doubt rumours would cause any significant trouble, but it's probably best to announce myself in an at least vaguely controlled manner."

"Do you intend to live here?"

"As I mentioned, I'll be going to Hogwarts next month, but I suspect I'll split my holidays between here and Grimmauld Place."

Felix smiled. "You'll want to visit the citadel, then?"

"As long as we can get in without everyone noticing."

A large square stood in front of the castle that dominated the city, and whose terraces of spires, walls, courts and colonnades climbed the mountain that formed the southernmost point of the bay. It was thankfully not a market day, although plenty of people wandered about, conversing and visiting the shops that lined three sides of the square.

The outer wall of the castle itself filled the square's fourth side. Immense blocks of warm stone, chiselled together too tightly for mortar, stood forty feet high, evenly spaced towers sixty. The only entrance in a quarter mile of length was a gatehouse with portcullis backed by doors of gleaming steel.

"So how do you plan to stop people noticing, Pup?" Sirius asked curiously when the four of them were stood in front of the entrance.

Harry tilted his head thoughtfully to one side as he surveyed the gatehouse, elegant from a distance, but uncompromisingly massive from a few feet away.

"Hold this." He told Sirius, slipping off his outer robe.


	7. Chapter 7

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-VII-

The portcullis was easy enough to climb. An unfortunately ladder-like construction, bars not even too uncomfortable on the hands if one moved quickly enough. He heard Sirius' strangled exclamation when he leapt out at the top to grasp the carved stone edge of the framing. He saw his godfather drawing a wand from the corner of his eye as he let go of his foothold, using the momentum of his body's outward swing to pull himself up a few feet further. Another push as one of his feet found purchase and his right hand was able to reach an arrow slit.

A few more seconds of climbing and Harry flipped his body gracefully over the crenulations, body lighting with a brief shimmer of magic as the wards permitted his access. He looked back to admire the view of the square below, and to see Felix clapping. Sirius stood, mouth agape, Remus looked unsurprised. Grateful that his modified disillusionment allowed him to see his companion's reactions, Harry made his way to a staircase.

* * *

"Welcome to Castle Antheon." Harry said cheerfully as he appeared to step through a mass of solid steel.

"Thank you, my lord." Felix said amusedly, barely pausing before stepping forward and through himself.

Remus eyed Harry appraisingly. "Impressive. I clearly haven't realised the scope of your progress in illusions."

Harry shrugged whilst Sirius stepped up to the gleaming metal slowly, examining it carefully, before plunging a hand straight through, and turning back to Harry with a bewildered expression.

"The wards helped a lot. They're sufficiently strong on the actual gates and portcullis that they were able to give me a magical imprint of their form, after that it was just getting the reflection right, with the sun at the angle it is."

Remus nodded, and he and Sirius followed Harry back through the illusion.

A decade of neglect had left its mark. The enchanted stonework of the castle itself was, perhaps, largely immutable, but the gardens were overgrown for want of tending, many windows empty for want of glass, and the stables empty for want of horses.

Felix was standing on the far side of the gatehouse, looking around sadly.

"We'll fix it." Harry told him reassuringly.

The old man nodded, and led them up a long flight of broad and shallow steps to the main entrance of the castle itself.

Before they reached it, however, the doors opened before them. A woman stepped out.

Harry felt his companions freeze and was barely able to contain his own startlement any better.

The woman was old, white-haired and strikingly beautiful. She eyed them all smilingly, focused on Harry.

A soft thump was the sound that broke the silence as Felix dropped to one knee in front of her.

"My lady."

She turned her attention to him, expression softening.

"Felix, old friend, do get up."

He rose unsteadily.

The woman turned her attention back to Harry.

"Welcome back."

"Thank you, Grandmother."

A few moments of reasoning had arrived at that conclusion. The twinkle he received indicated it to be the correct one.

"Won't you come inside, gentlemen?"

They followed her mutely into an entrance hall that would swallow the one at Grimmauld place. She swept up a series of staircases, leading them eventually to the centre of a small peristyle where they sat under an awning amidst neatly tended flowers and sunshine.

"Can I offer you gentlemen any refreshments?" Dorea Potter inquired smoothly.

"We've just eaten with Felix." Harry answered for all of them.

"Excellent. How good it is to meet you at last, grandson."

Before Harry could reply, Sirius spoke.

"You're supposed to be dead." He said confusedly.

"And I'm delighted to see you again as well, nephew." She replied tartly.

Sirius' eyes widened.

"I didn't mean it like that." He apologised immediately.

"Perhaps not, but I had thought to have raised you better." She said firmly.

The other three were smirking.

"I think it should be fairly self-evident that I am, in fact, still alive."

"My doubts on that score have been wholly vanquished." Harry assured her.

She eyed him approvingly for a moment.

"You would do well to learn from your godson, Sirius."

"He really wouldn't." Remus muttered softly in the background.

"Perhaps you could tell us the story of your miraculous survival." Harry suggested.

"Indeed, although not so miraculous I fear." She paused and snapped her fingers. "Narey, would you bring my husband and children?"

The house elf nodded once and disappeared for a moment. Before any of them could take issue with Dorea's request, he reappeared, setting up three easels, before departing momentarily to return with three gilt picture frames, which he placed upon the stands.

Charlus, James and Lily Potter surveyed those assembled from their canvases.

"Hi, Mum, Dad." Harry greeted them softly.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hello, son."

"Glad you survived." Charlus Potter said gruffly, though his own eyes looked as wet as paint could suggest.

"So," Harry began brightly. "Is it me, Granny or Sirius telling their story first?"

"Granny?" Dorea asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

"It makes you sound less dangerous." Harry suggested. "You know, so you can sneak up on your enemies unawares."

"And my grandchildren." She warned.

"I wouldn't expect anything less. Anyway, you first; I keep having to tell other people my story."

She nodded agreeably. "There's not really much for me to tell. Charlus died in battle a few days before James and Lily were betrayed. I was assumed to have died around the same time as the wards here snapped shut following my husband's death; James took the ring but never returned to Antheon as its Lord. Everyone left in the castle was brushed out, save for myself. My grief overcame me for several weeks, by which time the wards were in full lockdown. I had some limited control, but breaching the perimeter was entirely beyond me. And so," she finished her disappointingly brief tale, "here I have lived for the intervening years, served by a few faithful elves and fed by the castle gardens." She paused, eyes now sparkling slightly, "So I suppose I must thank you, handsome prince, for my release. It's rather exciting to have human company."

"Somewhat offensive." Muttered her son from his frame.

Harry rose and kissed his grandmother on both cheeks.

"I am a handsome prince." He told her, grinning, when she raised an eyebrow.

"Another Sirius." He heard his mother sigh from behind him.

"A couple of differences." Harry noted amusedly.

"I hope so." That was Felix.

Lily prompted them before they became more distracted.

"Well, Harry, your turn I think."

Harry flashed her a smile and nodded.

The Dursleys were cursed, Aunt Mim praised. The listeners were outraged on behalf of Sirius, and Lily and James delighted to have both their caution with regard to Dumbledore be justified, and plans with regard to Harry work faultlessly.

James laughed and Lily rolled her eyes upon being told that Sirius had made Harry Lord Black; apparently it had been a long-running joke between them working out how Sirius was going to escape his responsibilities.

The conversation continued until the sun began to drop below the roofline.

"You must stay here." Dorea told them firmly, indicating the two storey building that surrounded the garden; the pleasant quarters she had chosen for her isolation.

Narey showed them all to comfortable rooms with large, low beds. They reconvened in the court for dinner, enjoying the balmy Mediterranean climate long centuries of enchantments had ensured Antheon enjoyed.

The food was simple and vegetarian, but Harry's grandmother sparkled under the newfound attention, apparently relishing the chance to once more become the society hostess. She'd agreed to return to London with them the following day, eager to speak to her brother's portrait.

* * *

Harry had managed to brush off all offers of accompaniment to his meeting with Dumbledore, so it was a solitary flight over. He'd briefly considered travelling commercial, thinking amusedly of finding Dumbledore sitting three rows in front in one of his pointy hats.

He'd chosen a restaurant in Zurich a fair distance from the entrance to the magical city, not really imagining that a few score muggles around them would actually inconvenience Dumbledore, but knowing that it was territory he would still be infinitely more comfortable on. Really, for a muggle-lover, Dumbledore didn't appear to have much knowledge of, or interest in, them.

He hadn't booked into a hotel, intending to fly back out straight after the meeting. Dumbledore no doubt had his own ways to use the international floo stations inconspicuously, even if his pet phoenix couldn't quite manage the distance.

He took a car from the airport, and, arriving in plenty of time, made the driver hover outside of the restaurant. A good fifteen minutes before they were due to meet Harry saw the man he knew, judging by the beaming, twinkling, completely batty photos the papers were so fond of printing, to be Albus Dumbledore. He had, at least, made an effort. His suit was well cut to his tall frame, although the tartan was eye-wateringly loud. He was, thankfully, hatless. His hair and beard were long and silvery, neatly combed, and half-moon spectacles perched delicately on the end of a pointy nose as he made his way briskly into the restaurant. His appearance was just sufficiently bizarre for the unfalteringly polite locals to be giving him a second glance when they thought he wasn't looking.

Harry internally debated being punctual for a few moments, but decided to let the man sit anxiously for a while. Five minutes after they were supposed to have met, Harry stepped out of the car, doing the top button of his jacket up. He'd put on a charcoal suit, teaming it with a crisp white shirt, collar unbuttoned. Elegant, exquisitely tailored, flattering on his lithe frame. Second glances of admiration, rather than bewilderment, from the locals.

The Maître d' guided him to a table in a secluded corner, where Dumbledore was already sitting calmly, steady tapping of steepled fingers the only indication of anxiety. Well, that, and the way his head snapped around at the sound of Harry's approach. _Wrong choice of chair, old man,_ Harry thought, _first point to me._

Dumbledore rose as he approached, hand extended and eyes twinkling like a constellation trying to attract a mate.

"Harry!" He exclaimed warmly, clasping his hand eagerly and shaking it as though reluctant to let go.

"An honour to meet you, Professor. It must have been quite a task for you to take time out from what must be a hugely onerous schedule to meet with me."

Dumbledore, releasing his grip at last, used the now free hand to wave airily, deftly casting a silencing charm around the two of them.

"Not at all, my boy, I take a personal interest in the wellbeing of all of my students, current or prospective."

 _Although I suspect it's never quite reached such stalkerish heights before,_ Harry mused.

"That's both hugely flattering and reassuring," Harry said, smiling so charmingly Dumbledore looked taken aback for a moment. "I fear we have much to discuss, shall we sit?"

 _Point two to me._ Harry thought, as he stepped around Dumbledore to hold out his own recently vacated chair to him.

The old man frowned slightly, but took it calmly enough. Harry sat opposite, using the better view of the room his own seat gave him to make eye contact with a waiter.

"Have you ordered?" He inquired politely.

Dumbledore looked slightly taken aback at this child more interested in food than the many important things he had to tell him.

"I haven't, no, I'm quite alright anyway." He reassured hastily.

"Something to drink then?" Harry asked, picking up the menu as the waiter arrived at their table.

"I'll have a sparkling water, and the tortellini."

"And you, sir?" The waiter addressed Dumbledore.

"A cup of Lapsang souchong." The man said grudgingly.

"Thanks," Harry said warmly, dismissing the waiter as he returned his attention to Dumbledore.

"Thank you for still welcoming me to Hogwarts," he said earnestly, "I appreciate how unusual it is for a student not to join in the first year, and sometimes regret that I was, at that point, unable to attend."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.

"Might I ask where you have been living for all of these years?" His tone was delicate, his words blunt.

"Oh, here and there," Harry responded breezily. "I've been brought up with a fair amount of knowledge of the wizarding world, and received some training. I hope your proffered remedial studies should prove unnecessary, although I am grateful for the offer."

Dumbledore actually frowned at that, but attempted another sally. "And who is your guardian?"

"Oh, I don't have one," Harry said brightly.

Dumbledore looked confused.

"I am led to understand that both the muggle and magical worlds require a child to have a guardian?"

"Normally, I think, but I'm now emancipated."

"By who?"

"Umm, myself really." Harry said, before explaining helpfully. "Well, as Lord Potter I'm entitled to reach my majority at the age of fourteen, so I haven't technically required a guardian for the last two weeks."

Dumbledore's mouth actually dropped open slightly in shock, before he frowned deeply.

"I had no idea you knew about your inheritance," he murmured softly.

"Oh, you needn't worry about all of that." Harry said light-heartedly. "Although I thank you for your offer to take me to Gringotts. I've been to London and settled all of my business."

Dumbledore's astonishment was almost tangible, the more so when Harry showed his hand, Potter ring adorned, with its diamond gleaming like newly welled blood. The Black ring it sat beside had been carefully glamoured into a plain band, and he'd swept its magical signature under the shields that guarded his own.

"All settled?" Dumbledore asked eventually.

"That's right. I've discussed investment strategies with the Gringotts brokers, both here and in London, in order to maximise potential yields and move out of the slow growth areas traditionally relied upon."

Dumbledore went back to confused, before pulling himself together again.

"Can I ask who your guardian has been for all these years, since your disappearance from the carefully selected home I had arranged for you?" Dumbledore asked, emphasising his final words.

"Of course," Harry replied pleasantly. "I've been nominally under the guardianship of my other Aunt, Miriam Evans. It seems that my parents had made certain arrangements for my care in the muggle world, bearing in mind the chronic instability that characterised wizarding Britain at the time of their deaths. She was to be asked to adopt me should a suitable wizarding alternative not be found."

Dumbledore looked a little upset, before the emotion fell like water from his face.

Their drinks arrived at this point, and Harry sipped slowly as they waited for the waiter to finish pouring Dumbledore's tea.

"I assume that being placed in the muggle system meant that when my parents' solicitors in that world opened the paperwork, they found a child lodged with the wrong people, and had that corrected. I apologise for causing problems with regard to your no doubt excellent arrangements, but I really have been very happy with Aunt Mim." Harry said cheerfully, projecting obliviousness.

Dumbledore had calmed down somewhat, face relaxing as he became convinced that it was coincidence rather than suspicion or kidnap that had taken Harry away from the custody of the Dursleys.

"Can I ask about your magic?" He probed with what he hoped was delicacy, allowing his curiosity to get the better of him.

Harry smiled. "Of course, I take it you knew me somewhat as a baby, so realise that I'm not a squib. You may rest assured that I am confident my magic is quite sufficient to keep up at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore prompted gently. "I have a certain ability to sense people's ambient magic. You seem to have yours shielded somewhat. Is it possible for you to lower those barriers and allow me to check?"

Harry laughed softly, internally, amusement heightened by how neatly Dumbledore had tucked his own magic away, particularly when he was noted for flaunting it for attention most of the time.

"Of course," he said pleasantly, gently sliding away a corner of the protections and allowing some magic to pour through. When he read as what he thought a powerful student finishing up at Hogwarts might, he stopped.

Dumbledore nodded, a mixture of relieved and disappointed. The boy was strong, very strong. He wasn't, however, either as weak as he might have hoped, nor sufficiently powerful to be a truly interesting diversion.

"Thank you, you say that you have already received some training, and hope that remedial training will prove unnecessary?" He asked, clearly fishing for more detailed information.

"Yes, my Aunt and I managed to find me some tutors a few years ago, so I have a fairly broad basic knowledge." At this point he drew out and handed over a sealed envelope. "I've listed my subject choices."

Dumbledore nodded, apparently now relaxed.

"If you're going to be available over the summer then I'll ask some of the staff at Hogwarts send you assessments to complete, so that they can accurately judge your level?" he inquired, sipping delicately at his cup.

 _That was subtler, well, slightly,_ Harry thought.

"Of course, any owls should be able to reach me now, although wards will naturally enough remove all tracking spells, and kill the birds whose spells they can't strip neatly."

He almost felt sorry for him as the old man frowned again. This meeting wasn't going anywhere near the way he wanted but, although he had information that might help him now, the boy had proved impossible to track before, and he didn't want to scare him away.

 _Time to increase that flight risk,_ Harry thought.

"Madame Maxime has been most helpful as well, so I feel reassured that, should I not demonstrate sufficient aptitude in the tests from Hogwarts, then I still have the option of going to Beauxbatons."

Dumbledore actually went slightly pale at that, placing his cup to the table with a slight click on the glass surface, missing the saucer by a few inches. He clearly hadn't come expecting to have to use Occlumency on his emotions.

"I'm sure that won't be a problem," he hastened to assure Harry, sounding slightly anxious. "Hogwarts was where your parents went, and even with magic helping you I suspect lessons in French might prove something of an obstacle." He joked weakly, trying desperately to reignite some twinkle.

"You needn't worry about that," Harry said, shrugging nonchalantly. "I'm pretty much fluent in French anyway."

"I take it you've spent some considerable time in France, then?" Dumbledore questioned, voice just on the safe side of sharp.

"Not really. A few months there just after I turned twelve. I loved Paris though, and look forward to the opportunity to visit more regularly in the future. I believe the Potters have a chateau on the outskirts of the wizarding city."

"You must have some considerable facility for languages, then, to pick up one so quickly?"

"Thank you," Harry said modestly. "We travelled a lot, and I found studying the various languages interesting. I realise that there are devices in the wizarding world that can help with translation, but they all seem to be clumsy and inaccurate and, to be honest, I suspect the mistakes they make often cause embarrassment."

"Exactly how many languages do you speak?" Dumbledore asked, apparently with genuine curiosity this time.

Harry paused, counting internally, even as his food arrived.

"Ten or so, I think," He estimated, rounding down.

"Impressive," Dumbledore murmured, watching as Harry began neatly eating his pasta.

"Thank you, I've heard tell that you yourself are a linguist?" Harry asked after finishing his mouthful.

Dumbledore nodded, pleased in spite of himself that the conversation was moving on to his own considerable accomplishments.

"I can get by in about eighty. I spent a couple of slow decades studying them, although that must have been half a century ago now, so I have no idea how much of the knowledge I've retained."

 _Not the two hundred you allow to be reported, then?_ Harry thought amusedly. _And once you take away all of the languages with only a couple of hundred actual words, like Mermish, then I wonder exactly how skilled you are._

"Would you tell me about my parents?" Harry asked, feigning eagerness, and simultaneously giving support to Remus' plans. "I have very few memories of them, you see."

Dumbledore smiled gently; glad to have the conversation back on familiar ground.

"They were both brilliant people," he began. "Not only that, but friendly and popular. Your father in particular was a great one for practical jokes, even if they did, on occasion, get out of hand. I think your mother disapproved, to a certain extent, but those pranks that were most successful always seemed to have her involvement somewhere."

 _Well, that's all backed up by Remus._

"Did they have subjects they particularly enjoyed, do you remember?"

Dumbledore appeared to think for a moment.

"I believe that your mother was a skilled arithmetician, as well as possessing interests in Potions and Charms. Your father was probably most absorbed by Quidditch, although I was led to understand that he was also an enthusiastic member of the Duelling Club, until he decided that he would never quite be the best."

"At which point he quit?" Harry asked curiously.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "I fear that, for anything James was really interested in, he had to be the best, or not do it at all."

 _Like me,_ Harry thought, _just without the interested in requirement, or the not at all option._

"These tortellini really are excellent," he commented, "would you like one?" He asked, spearing one and leaning across the table to offer it to Dumbledore.

The old man looked taken aback, but leaned forward gingerly to pluck the parcel from Harry's fork.

"Very good," he commented after a moment's chewing.

"Would you like a plate?" Harry offered.

Dumbledore looked tempted, but shook his head.

"I fear I must go in a few minutes."

Harry nodded equably.

"There was just one last matter I wanted to discuss with you." He said calmly, setting down his cutlery.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"The Wizengamot. It's my understanding that for the ministry to officially recognise my titles as Lord Potter before I reach the normal age of majority at seventeen, as well as to take up my seats, requires a vote to approve the motion. I was hoping that you, as Chief Warlock, would be able to aid me in the matter."

Dumbledore frowned at him before nodding slowly. "Yes, I believe that that is true. I must confess myself unsure, however, despite being impressed by you, whether someone of fourteen, who has spent their life outside of wizarding Britain, is quite ready to assume the Wizengamot mantle."

Harry smiled at him innocently.

"I share your concerns, of course, but I would like to follow in my father's footsteps as soon as possible, and begin to learn. I would naturally require a mentor, someone to give me advice and help me with my decisions. I would be honoured if you could see yourself in that role."

 _Elegant,_ Harry thought to himself, with only the faintest hint of smugness; _difficult to refuse outright, which means he'll be looking around for the path of least resistance. He'll be convinced he can make it work for him, either way._

"I and my voters will support your claim in the Wizengamot." Dumbledore pledged solemnly, apparently coming to the anticipated conclusion.

Harry grinned at him blindingly.

"I'm grateful."

Dumbledore smiled, before taking a large golden pocket watch from his waistcoat.

"I really must go now, I'm afraid." He sighed, appearing genuinely regretful.

Harry nodded understandingly.

"Of course," he agreed, making eye contact with the waiter once again, who quickly brought over the bill.

Dumbledore looked slightly confused, and just watched curiously as Harry paid by card and signed the receipt.

They both thanked the waiter politely, Harry tipping him fifty euros, Dumbledore a sherbet lemon.

"Well, I will see you when term starts on the first."

"Of course."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Goodbye, Harry."

"Goodbye, Professor."

The driver was holding the car door open for him, but Harry stood beside it for a few moments, watching the tall figure sweep up the pavement towards the magical part of the city, before getting in.

Less than four hours later he was back at Grimmauld Place, with Sirius and Remus bouncing attendance on him. Well, Sirius was bouncing, Remus looking merely curious in an academic sort of way.

"Well?" His godfather pressed eagerly.

Harry rolled his eyes as he grinned, leading the way up the staircase from the entrance hall.

"Exactly as planned, I think. He didn't even attempt to use Legilimency on me."

He heard Remus sigh with relief from behind him. He went into the family library on the second floor, sitting comfortably one of the sofas before summoning a large bowl of beaten silver from one of the fitted cupboards.

Sirius and Remus sat down on two other sofas, so they were all facing the bowl on the coffee table in the centre of the square of furniture. The pensieve was half full of the water-like liquid that allowed it to project memories, but empty of any actual recollections.

Sirius and Remus watched eagerly as Harry put a finger to his temple and drew a long silvery strand away from his head, which trailed gently as it was drawn towards the bowl, as if suspended on its own currents of air. As soon as the first part of it touched the surface of the liquid it was drawn down, outlines blurring as it whirled rapidly.

Harry passed a hand over the bowl, concentrating hard. His companions exclaimed softly as the memory expanded upwards out of the bowl, forming up in gauzy three dimensions as it began to move.

At least they were having all of the right reactions, Harry thought absently as he reviewed the memory himself, whilst happily taking in their shock and outrage and laughter.

"You did well, Pup," Sirius congratulated him as soon as the memory had finished playing.

"Cheers."

Remus was frowning slightly. "You do realise that Dumbledore hasn't actually got a majority in the Wizengamot?"

"Of course I do; you taught me wizarding politics. Don't worry; I should have it all under control. Incidentally, I'll be out tomorrow." He told them.

* * *

Harry dressed with particular care on the morning of the fourteenth. He wasn't particularly used to wearing robes, and it was necessary that he look the part for this. He chose a beautiful midnight blue outer robe, one of the new ones, over black shirt, trousers, and dragonhide boots.

Sirius whistled when he stepped into the small dining room.

"Definitely my relative."

"Indeed, probably your cousin in about half a dozen different ways. Anyway, I'm surprised to see you up so early?" Harry asked, seating himself, to be immediately plied with juice by Kreacher.

Sirius shrugged innocently.

"I guessed you'd be off fairly early, and I don't think it's too much to want to see off my godson?"

"You don't even know where I'm going."

"How about I collect you later?" Sirius suggested eagerly.

"How about you mind your own business and find something else to do, rather than getting your thrills out of stalking me?"

"But you do interesting stuff..." Sirius whined.

"And now you've lumbered me with all of the Black administrative burdens, you surely have plenty of time to find some 'interesting' stuff of your own to do." Harry said lightly.

Sirius pouted, and spent the rest of breakfast trying to figure out what Harry was up to.

"I'll see you later then," Harry said as he stood, "why don't you look through some of the attics if you're bored?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "What fun."

* * *

A quarter of an hour later, having hired one of the horse-drawn carriages wizards used in place of taxis, and decided he really must get one of his own, Harry found himself stood in front of a large limestone edifice.

The glass doors that lined the entire front stood open, having not yet closed after welcoming the flood of early morning workers. The vast lobby was dotted with a few witches and wizards, chattering in small groups as they drifted past a peculiar fountain. Harry followed them to the enormous metal grille that filled the far end of the long space, an ironwork double gate the only entrance.

He stood in line patiently as the others filed through, dutifully presenting their wands to the sole guard now on duty.

The middle-aged woman eyed Harry interestedly as he approached.

"Wand and your identification please," she said in a friendly voice.

Harry handed over a wand, twelve inches of mahogany and Ukranian Ironbelly heartstring, borrowed from a case in Grimmauld Place.

"I'm afraid I'm not an employee of the ministry." He said politely. "I do, however, have important business to attend."

The witch looked up from examining the wand.

"Your meeting is with?" She inquired mildly.

"The Minister." Harry said simply, extending his hand to display the Potter ring, Black band still glamoured.

The witch's eyes widened immediately. A few seconds of processing seemed to follow, before they flashed to his forehead. Harry smiled internally, raising his other hand to draw away that glamour.

 _Not often you get to see someone properly speechless._ Harry thought to himself as he waited patiently.

"Lord Potter," the woman breathed eventually, sounding faintly reverent. "An honour to meet you at last."

Harry smiled at her blindingly, making her blush furiously.

"I'm flattered that you think so." He said lowly, flirting gently.

"Might I have my wand back?" He asked eventually, when she had sat frozen for a while.

"Of course, my lord." She stammered immediately, handing it back to him, gesturing him onwards with a flapping motion that simultaneously cooled her flaming face.

"Thank you." Harry said, smiling at her, "Fudge's office this way?" He said, tilting his head.

She nodded. "Straight ahead, first floor," she parroted, seeming to take comfort in a direction she'd probably given a thousand times before.

"Cheers," Harry said, striding forward.


	8. Chapter 8

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-VIII-

Minister Fudge's office was, happily, indeed in that direction. It was less happily, however, preceded by Minister Fudge's waiting room, fully occupied despite the early hour.

Harry stepped up to the secretary, sitting behind his polished desk and beside an equally shiny door. Those waiting eyed him with a mixture of curiosity, the men, and appreciation, the women.

The man was severe looking, grey hair neatly combed but a little long as he stared up at Harry from behind silver-framed spectacles.

"I'd like to see the minister, please." Harry said coolly, faintly curious about how this request would be greeted.

The man scowled at him, shoving a clipboard at his chest.

"State your name and business," he said brusquely. "If the minister wants to see you then we'll contact you with an appointment."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "A process all of these people have already gone through?" He asked, indicating the score of people lining the walls behind him.

The man behind the desk nodded impatiently.

"Peculiar that so many are here waiting for one man, when they have appointments." He said mildly.

Before the secretary could reply a woman seated nearby broke in.

"The silly bugger hasn't even turned up yet." She snorted.

At that very moment a bustle came through the door at the far end of the room. The bustle, a squat mass of pinstripes and bowler hat, waddled past them rapidly. A brusque "Morning Dawlish," was heard, followed immediately by the slam of the shiny door.

A man, who presumably had had the first appointment of the day, began to stand. Before he could do anything more, Harry leaned toward Dawlish, staring directly into suspicious grey eyes.

"I'm confident the Minister would be as interested to meet me as I am to meet him." He said softly.

The secretary's eyes cleared, and he nodded vigorously. "You're right of course; go straight through, Mr... ah?"

"Mr is fine." Harry said airily, stepping forwards even as he despaired of the Ministry's security precautions.

* * *

The office behind the door was surprisingly small, but impressively comfortable. The bustle, now without either movement or bowler hat, became discernible as a little man, recognisably pudgy behind even the expensively tasteless tailoring, gingery hair balding. He was sat behind a big desk, in a heavily stuffed armchair, reclining easily as he sipped carefully at a cup of tea and eyed the newspaper in front of him.

He didn't look up as Harry entered.

"Fifteen minutes before I see anyone, Dawlish, you know that," he said irritably.

"I'm sure he does," Harry said smoothly, "but he found me sufficiently impressive to bend the rules, just a little, you understand. A pleasure to meet you, Minister Fudge."

The little man had looked up sharply as Harry began to speak. He was now eyeing him assessingly, beady eyes taking in the fine silk robes with their delicate silver embroidery.

"Might I ask who you are?" He said finally.

"Of course. I'm Harry, Lord Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived."

Fudge's gaze sharpened considerably. "Dumbledore wasn't lying then," he murmured softly. "How do I know you speak the truth?"

Harry wordlessly extended a hand.

After looking carefully, the man's eyes returned to meet Harry's. "What can I do for you, Lord Potter?" He asked, at last adopting a politician's mask.

"Might I have a seat?" Harry inquired politely, maintaining his own poise.

Fudge's face darkened slightly in embarrassment, and he gestured hastily to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Thank you. I thought it appropriate to inform the sitting minister of my return to Britain as soon as possible," Harry said. "A courtesy, you understand, believing that they might be interested in such knowledge."

Fudge nodded slowly. "Indeed I am."

Harry smiled at him. "Excellent. Well, now that you've been apprised of that, perhaps we could move onto the other topic of this discussion?"

Fudge looked curious in spite of himself, and waved a hand to indicate Harry continue.

"I would like you to vote me onto my Wizengamot seats tomorrow, also providing the ministry's acknowledgement of my titles."

Fudge's eyes narrowed. "You aren't yet seventeen. Why on earth would I want to do that?"

Harry gestured dismissively. "To curry favour with someone about to become hugely important." He said lightly, before adding, "And in exchange for a quarter of a million galleons towards your re-election campaign."

Fudge's eyes widened in surprise, before narrowing again. "What exactly are you asking for in exchange? And what makes you think I need more funding with the elections so close?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing more, nothing less, than you and your supporters voting for the motion I put forward tomorrow, asking for acknowledgement of my inheritance. We'll swear an oath; my only quid pro quo is that. And I think you need more funding because you're doing badly in the polls, and I strongly suspect that Lord Malfoy has written you off and withdrawn his own support of you."

Fudge's face paled. It shouldn't have be known that Lucius had been supporting him all these years, let alone that he'd been abandoned by him a fortnight before.

Before he could speak, Harry continued.

"I'll take his place, for the time being. I'll support you financially, I'll bribe, persuade, flatter and coerce. I'll use my fame, and the influence I will shortly have, to keep you in office."

"That's more than funding my re-election campaign." Fudge said sharply.

"Of course it is, and naturally the vote and the two fifty are just the start of my proposed relationship. Presents exchanged in good faith." He paused. "The thing is, we both know that you're useless. It wasn't just Lucius' money you needed; it was him behind the scenes, cajoling and threatening and blackmailing, that kept your supporters voting with you. I give you the money, you win the election. I abandon you after that, and the house of cards will fall down by Christmas." He finished nonchalantly.

"You're a child." Fudge spluttered, politician's mask now splitting down the middle.

Harry nodded agreeably. "That's why I need you to vote me onto my Wizengamot seats. I'm also the child who has offered to save your career. You see, the thing here is that whilst I have a considerable amount to gain, you have vastly more to lose."

He pulled a bearer book from inside of his robes, pocket expanded so as not to ruin the line. He placed it on the table, drawing out a fountain pen and writing out a bond for a quarter of a million galleons, addressing it to the holding company Fudge used to clean his campaign donations. He hovered the pen over the space for his signature.

Fudge eyed him, complete bewilderment kept from his eyes only by a faint and overriding sense of hope. He thought for a few moments longer.

"I agree." He said at last. "The money for the votes."

Harry smiled at him, placing down the fountain pen to clasp the man's hand.

"I do solemnly swear, upon loss of magic and life, to uphold my part in this proposed bargain." He said simply, not wanting to reiterate the sordid details, or have to use his full name, trusting his magic to fill in the gaps. It seemed to work, as a tracery of faint white lines spread around his hand.

Fudge looked at him in slight askance, but parroted the words willingly enough, watching as the lines spread to net his own hand. They drew in close, sinking into skin and taking hold.

Harry maintained his mask as he separated the bond and presented it to Minister Fudge. He felt the magic, which he hadn't even been aware of tightening, release him as he fulfilled his part of the bargain.

"Thank you, Minister. I'll be in touch." He said, inclining his head to the man.

Fudge nodded back, head reaching the same angle before returning to an upright position. "And thank you, my lord." He said, having recovered his wits sufficiently to remember the title.

Harry stood, smoothing his robes before leaving. He found the waiting room in a state of minor uproar, which quieted slightly as he swept through, before returning once he left.

* * *

He returned to Grimmauld Place, to find Remus waiting for Kreacher to bring in lunch and no sign of Sirius.

"Welcome back," Remus said cheerfully as Harry sat down beside him. "I take it your business took less time than expected?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I hadn't anticipated it taking more than the morning, but decided that suggesting otherwise to Sirius would help keep him from following me."

Remus grinned at him. "Well, it seems to have worked; he's been in the attic for the past few hours, at least according to Kreacher."

"So we're not to expect him for lunch?"

"I fear he's too engrossed." Remus said with a sigh.

"Well, at least he's keeping himself entertained."

Their conversation broke off for a while as Kreacher served them; a neatly dressed salad with lightly grilled chicken.

"I see Aunt Mim's been speaking with the staff." Harry commented to Remus, who groaned faintly.

"You're going to need to find some chefs who can actually stand up to her."

"Remus, you can't stand up to her."

"Just because you're the only one who does, doesn't mean there isn't someone else out there."

"It also doesn't mean I can find them and make them cook for us," Harry pointed out.

Remus shrugged, picking unenthusiastically at his plate. "This is not werewolf food."

"For which I'm thankful, bearing in mind what werewolves were designed to eat. Anyway, it is excellent. You know," Harry said, tilting his head to one side, "it might help you lose some of that weight Catalina helped you gain."

"My metabolism is nearly forty." Remus pointed out defensively.

"Muggles manage it... and your wolfiness burns as much fat as the rest of you put together. Anyway, it's diet, or the gym."

"We don't have one here, thank Merlin."

"You could still come running around the grounds with me. We can do hand-to-hand practise as well, until I find some martial artists in London." Harry suggested. "Anyway, I'm having the gym from the apartment in Lima flown in. It should be here the day after I make the papers tomorrow."

Remus looked at him incredulously. "You couldn't just buy a new one here?"

Harry shrugged. "I liked that one, besides, I bought it in the first place. I'm not going to give the landlord a free set of equipment."

"You were paying him twenty thousand dollars a month in rent... I don't think he cares about the gym equipment."

"And I think the bill for flying it over will be around fifty thousand, but hey, that's what rich people do. I'm also providing financial support to a fragile industry." Harry added, attempting sanctimonious, but unable to keep a straight face.

"The private jet charter industry is not fragile." Remus told him.

"You don't know that. Anyway, it's done. I've got a couple of people coming over for tea, by the way." He added casually, changing the subject.

Remus stared at him. "Who? You don't even know anyone here."

"A situation I hope tea will help to rectify."

"You don't even like tea."

"I know," Harry said patiently, "but I have to drink it to reassure my guests that it isn't poisoned."

Remus' eyes widened. "You haven't?"

"Well, not technically, but close enough, and I decided it's probably polite to extend them the same courtesies."

Remus sat thinking for a few moments. "The Longbottoms?" he asked eventually.

"Yup. Neville and Granny."

Remus got over his surprise fairly quickly.

"You probably shouldn't call her that."

"Of course not, we'll be on first name terms by the end of the afternoon anyway." Harry said cheerfully.

Remus eyed him dubiously.

"Lady Augusta has a reputation." He warned.

"If you've spent more than a century on earth and don't have one, then you're probably pretty boring." Harry replied lightly.

"Am I invited to this tea?" Sirius interjected mildly, coming into the room.

Harry eyed him. "Under normal circumstances, of course, but seeing as this is going to be tricky enough without a supposed murderer sitting in, I'd suggest not. You can be the escaped criminal hiding in the attic. At least that way I don't have to explain you until you start setting furniture on fire during the night."

Sirius looked confused.

"Jane Eyre." Remus interjected, rolling his eyes, "One of our texts in fifth year literature?"

Sirius stared at him blankly. "I didn't read it."

"Probably the reason you only just scraped your 'Acceptable'." Remus commented.

"How do you even know that? _I_ don't even remember."

"I spent most of that year trying to tutor you and James. I considered an 'Acceptable' in literature from you an astounding success."

"Very funny."

"So, what time are they arriving?" Remus asked mildly, after he and Sirius had spent a few seconds frowning at one another.

"I said half four." Harry replied, checking his muggle wristwatch to find he still had three hours.

Remus nodded. "They'll be on time. They're flooing in?"

"Yes. I've opened one of the connections in the entrance hall, releasing a fireplace from the Fidelius."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

Harry shrugged. "I want to talk to Augusta, and her grandson, and the wards were happy to wrap themselves around the fireplace. I doubt Dumbledore himself could get through if he tried."

* * *

Harry went to stand welcomingly in front of the fireplace a minute before his guests were due to arrive. He'd donned a blood red robe, richly embroidered in gold, to denote his being Lord Potter. The large fireplace which stood to the right of the front doors, mirrored by its twin on the left, and carefully lit by Kreacher, flamed a brilliant green. Harry noted absently that it was half past to the second, even as a tall figure stepped neatly out.

Augusta Longbottom managed to wear both her many years and enormous hat with an unbent back and unbowed neck. She was clothed in a long dress of dark yellow, and a large vulture of dark brown perched on her head. Harry was eyed beadily as she approached him.

He inclined his head, according her the gesture of respect as both his elder and the Dowager Lady Longbottom. She took him in a moment longer, face impassive as she noted the Potter ring, before returning his nod.

Once this solemn greeting was over, Harry grinned at the elderly matriarch, the impact apparently sufficient to momentarily startle even this indomitable-seeming woman, as her eyes widened slightly and the corners of her mouth twitched.

"Lady Longbottom. Delighted to meet you at last."

"Lord Potter. Interested to meet you, at last." She said, regaining some composure.

Harry managed to move on to register the presence of the other figure who had come through the floo.

"My grandson, Neville," Lady Longbottom said graciously, stepping aside to reveal the boy who had apparently decided to hide behind her.

He was a stocky figure in heavy brown robes, face fairly handsome in spite of its pudginess. He was a good six inches shorter than Harry's 5'9, although he knew they were the same age, almost to the day.

"Neville." Harry said warmly, smiling again and shaking the boy's hand. "I know we haven't met, but I've wanted to for years; with us being the same year, and our parents having been such good friends it seems natural that we should be close."

The boy steeled himself visibly at the mention of his parents. "Hi, Harry." He said, apparently surprising himself with the lack of stutter, and blushing.

Harry ushered them smoothly to a small sitting room on the ground floor, with excellent views of the central court through its French doors. Augusta perched herself stiffly on a settee, pulling Neville down beside her. Harry sat across the coffee table from them in a chair. As soon as they were settled Kreacher came bustling in, filling cups with tea from a silver pot before disappearing, to return a moment later with a selection of scones and petit fours.

Harry concealed his dislike as he raised his own cup to take a sip. The other two drank a second afterwards, in the required display of trust.

"You have impressive control of your magic, Lord Potter," Augusta noted with some surprise, taking in the saucer steadily suspended an inch above the hand that would otherwise be holding it. She and Neville were both touching theirs; declaring their own lack of wandless magic.

"Thank you, Lady Longbottom, although you must call me Harry. I can only hope to adhere to the pureblood traditions and dances faithfully, when I have not been fortunate enough to be brought up around them."

"You may call me Augusta, then," the lady replied obligingly, nibbling at a scone, "and I must commend you on your performance so far. You say you have been brought up unaware of the steps?"

"I hope not entirely unaware; I have been tutored in and read extensively about the courtesies, but lack the first hand experience that would no doubt help to attune me to the nuances." Harry said, trying to choose the conversation that would endear him.

"I'm glad to find a young man of Neville's generation who seems so sensible and interested." Augusta said delightedly, before giving in to curiosity.

"Might I inquire as to where you have been for all these years, and why we are meeting in a sanctum of the Black family?" she asked, a sneering inflection apparent in her last words.

"Of course. I've been brought up by a muggle aunt of mine, Miriam Evans. She wasn't involved in any of the family's wizarding business, and has lived entirely in the muggle world for most of her life. Her job in the muggle world meant that we've travelled to a lot of different countries, and luckily she had sufficient contacts to find a couple of tutors for me. As I said in my invitation, I'm hoping to join Neville at Hogwarts in September, and would be grateful to have a friend before going into a completely new environment."

Augusta nodded approvingly. "I think that would be a most suitable arrangement." She coughed delicately. "The house?"

"My apologies. My grandmother was a Black, and it seems that with the absence of Sirius Black, Grimmauld Place, apparently the most independent-minded of the Black properties, has decided to bind itself to me."

Augusta frowned slightly, but apparently couldn't come up with a more likely explanation, and deemed further digging beneath her, so nodded.

"Neville is something of a prodigy at Herbology." She said proudly, politeness guiding her to steer the conversation away from interrogating her host, albeit into a non sequitur.

The subject of her last remark blushed redly, hastily putting down a chocolate éclair.

"Really?" Harry asked with a mixture of genuine and feigned interest, "I haven't had much opportunity to study it myself; although given the gardens and greenhouses that I now find myself in possession of, I suspect that will change."

"Neville will have to show you around our own collections." Augusta said pleasantly. "Are there any subjects at Hogwarts you're particularly interested in?"

"Well, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, as well as Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Ancient Studies. I've met with Dumbledore already. I think he'll be surprised when he sees I want to take the examinations in every subject save for Divination."

Augusta raised an eyebrow, whilst Neville stared open-mouthed.

"I was unaware that it was possible to timetable so many choices?"

"I don't believe it is, but I'll do the classes for thirteen, and just take the tests in the additional subjects." He smiled wryly. "Being brought up alone and taught by some of the world's best tutors has done nothing if not prepare me for this sort of thing. It's also interesting where the general breadth of the Hogwarts curriculum falls down." He continued, feeling comfortable with his subject.

"How so?" Augusta asked curiously.

"Well, I've found it fascinating how focused the different schools of magic can be in some areas. I believe that Durmstrang, for example, teaches some degree of the Dark Arts, as well as limited Blood Magic, but completely ignores the Transfiguration that Hogwarts considers so vital. Beauxbatons appears to place emphasis on Charms, Magical Theory and Warding, two of which Hogwarts is also interested in, although perhaps not as much, but the third of which is non-existent on the curriculum."

"You seem to have very detailed information?"

"I considered both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for a while," he said, "when I turned eleven and it was decided unsafe for me to return to Britain until I could inherit."

"Surely the future Lord Potter wouldn't go to a school where they teach the Dark Arts?" Augusta said, shock bleeding towards horror.

Harry decided to placate rather than persuade. "Of course it was never a serious contender," he lied, "but the institution has an undeniably excellent reputation in certain fields."

His elderly new friend seemed somewhat mollified by this. "Perhaps," she conceded, "but Hogwarts can surely be the only option for an heir or lord of The Twenty, particularly one who counts a founder as an ancestor." She noted reprovingly.

Harry smiled. "Of course, and here I am, ready to take up the mantle of responsibility."

Despite his not having been part of British aristocratic society since he was a year old, Augusta appeared to have taken a liking to him, and she nodded approvingly once more.

"Just as I intend Neville to be when he reaches seventeen." She said firmly.

Harry wondered whether Neville had been permitted to try and persuade the Longbottom ring to accept him as the Lord, what with his father having been in an induced magical coma since the end of the war, but decided that he probably hadn't. Augusta clearly ruled him with a rod of iron, and no control would be handed over until she deemed him ready.

"I should probably inform you," began Harry, "that I intend to put a motion before the Wizengamot tomorrow asking for the ministry's official acknowledgement of my titles, and to permit me to take up my seats at my present age."

Augusta's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I think that a little premature, surely."

"Of course, I wished only to keep you informed of my intentions; you and your allies must all vote as each of you see fit."

"We will." Augusta said firmly, "Although I shall be most interested to see your presentation, that is, if you intend to speak yourself?"

"I do. Do you attend Wizengamot meetings, Neville?" Harry asked, trying to bring him back into the conversation.

"Gran takes me sometimes to show me how it works." Neville said, apparently having gathered some confidence.

"You'll have to teach me then." Harry said, smiling.

"Have you made contact with any others of The Twenty?" Augusta inquired, in what Harry considered a slightly clumsy attempt to determine her own precedence.

"Not as yet. I'm sure I'll have ample opportunity at the Wizengamot. I know that your son and his wife were particularly close friends of my parents, and that you knew my grandfather well in his youth. I wanted to meet Neville, to try to make a friend in my year before going off to Hogwarts."

She nodded. "The Shafiq boy, Liram, I think it is, he's your and Neville's year too."

"I believe so, and their family has been allied to mine for more than eight centuries; even longer than the Longbottoms." He smiled charmingly. "I fear that they do not, however, number amongst their living ranks a lady half so formidable as yourself."

He watched as even the indomitable matriarch found herself smiling back at him, her expression little more than half a century away from flirtatious.

"You flatter me, Lord Potter." She pulled herself together, not quite smoothly enough to conceal the fumbled step. "I fear that we must beg your pardon and take our leave of you. It has truly been a pleasure, and my compliments to your elf, for the scones in particular."

"Kreacher will treasure your comments, I'm sure. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

"I will bring Neville with me." Augusta stated.

"Then my anticipation is twofold."

Augusta frowned, as though she thought that slightly generous multiplication. Nevertheless, she rose gracefully to follow Harry as he led them back though to the entrance hall, where the right-hand fireplace was still burning strongly.

He went to find Sirius once his guests had left, stopping only at his rooms to change back into casual clothes.

* * *

The attics seemed to comprise a warren of interconnected rooms, all protected by strong preservation charms and accessed via a narrow staircase. He extended his senses, and managed to find his godfather by virtue of his room being the one where those charms had been temporarily suspended; most of them would not respond well, when active, to someone poking about the objects they were supposed to hold in some semblance of stasis.

Sirius was crouched on the hard wooden floor playing contentedly with a life-size mechanical kneazle. Harry filed the image away to pensieve later, before revealing his presence. His godfather turned around, smiling as he greeted him.

"This is Dorea." He said proudly, lifting the toy up, which mewed softly and waggled its paws aimlessly as it was raised.

"After granny?" Harry asked amusedly.

Sirius nodded. "Dorea was always my favourite relative from my parents' generation, so when they commissioned this for my third birthday, having decided that a live kneazle was a touch too common, it seemed only logical to name her after her."

Harry eyed the glittering creation, silver joints moving fluidly as its amethyst eyes darted round.

"She's very pretty," he acknowledged.

Sirius agreed with him, before asking about his meeting.

"I think it went well. Augusta is exactly as you remember her and I think she likes me."

Sirius raised a curious eyebrow at that. "And Neville? I remember him vaguely as a baby."

"I suspect that I'll find a bit more out about Neville when we have a chance to talk without the presence of his grandmother."

Sirius nodded understandingly. "Is he good-looking?" He asked, smirking slightly.

Harry thought for a moment. "He's not bad, but could probably do with losing some baby fat."

"Ouch."

"You asked, and I suspect you'd have been ruder anyway."

"Probably." Sirius admitted, grinning. "I always thought Frank was quite hot."

"I thought you were straight?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Sirius waggled his fingers mysteriously.

"Maybe I was less insular when I was young than you think."

"Or maybe you just want me to think that."

"Possibly." He acknowledged. "Anyway, I see that you've changed, fancy giving me a hand?"

"I might as well." Harry agreed, having decided he'd ad lib his speech the next day. "Aunt Mim's not going to be back until dinner time."


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey Guys!**

 **Apologies for the embarrassingly long wait for an update; finishing my first term at Uni and throwing myself straight back into holiday work is all the excuse I have, and I appreciate it's not a very good one. On the upside, I'll post this chapter today and hopefully another one tomorrow (already written and vaguely proofread).**

 **Couple of review responses:**

 **Nonny:** _I appreciate a fair amount of the stuff I've thrown in so far is tired, and to be honest, there are plenty of bits I cringe over slightly in retrospect. I started pretty self-indulgently (which in my opinion Fanfiction inherently is), taking a fair number of the tired cliches and throwing them together with a few other bits in my own kind of way. In my defence, I regret some of it (but think I prefer to continue writing than go back and make fundamental changes), but the story will hopefully be becoming more original as time passes and the changes I started out with gradually snowball._

 _As to the apparent OPness of Harry. To a certain extent I agree, but I'll try to justify myself a bit. One of my major issues with the original books (and a fair amount of fanfic) is the idea that you have Harry as an essentially perfectly ordinary schoolchild in his mid-teens being able to hold his own against trained adults and a man who is supposedly one of the most powerful wizards the world has ever seen, with remarkably little objectively on his side. Equally, I have some difficulty with a lot of the stories where Harry has some kind of 'summer holiday revelation' and suddenly decides to dedicate himself to his studies. In the muggle world, I personally perceive a huge gap between doing well in GCSEs (the OWL age school qualifications here in the UK) and the kind of training one would expect to receive years later when joining, for example, the military. Harry is more advanced, and more of a fait accompli, I hope, so that I can skip a lot of the most tired tropes (learning how to beat dark lords from schoolteachers and portraits etc.) and bring in some vaguely new and interesting stuff. Essentially, I'm trying to distance Harry from the 'normal' 14 year old student, to make his being closer to raw 'skill' level of an auror of 20 years field experience more believable._

 _Also, if Harry is OP, pretty, rich etc. (which, self-indulgently, I admit I've made him), then I fully intend the opposition to be equally, if not more than equally, strong._

 _Pace is slow. Yes. On the upside, I do have another 45K words typed and sitting around, and which chronologically actually reach December. I can feel the pace speeding up, but I admit this is never likely to be one of those each-chapter-covers-a-year-fics._

 _Hopefully some of that makes sense._

 **Loved It:** _Review from ages ago mentioning my repetition of words. I do it. I make lots stylistic mistakes. In my defence, some of the repetition is conscious and meant to be ironic/flippant. As a principle I also prefer to repeat a word that means exactly what I want than use a clumsy/inaccurate/overwrought synonym that doesn't. I do go back and cringe over some of my repetitions and edit them out, but plenty of others I'm sure I miss or misjudge._

 **Love all your reviews. Please feel free to criticise, a lot of it I take, a few bits I might try to defend, but I love debate.**

 **Otherwise, Happy Christmas Eve, and hope you enjoy!**

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-IX-

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Harry met his godfather's eyes in the mirror.

"Absolutely." He turned to face his Aunt, seated elegantly on one of the settees in his private sitting room. "Am I presentable?" He asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

She smiled. "Just about," she bantered back. "You don't want me to come?"

"You're welcome to, of course, but I suspect my sudden reappearance will be shocking enough, without arriving at the Wizengamot accompanied by a muggle. No need to actually give the older members a heart attack."

Sirius laughed. "It might be worth doing, just to see their faces. I wish I could come"

"We want to rock the boat, not capsize it." Remus interjected severely, although he was smiling too.

Sirius started laughing again.

* * *

Harry waited patiently in the bathrooms near the debating chamber, watching the seconds slide by on the enchanted clock. The session was due to start at eleven, the earliest it was possible for one to, after the intervention of a few members of The Twenty had ensured they didn't have to get up before what they considered a 'civilised' hour.

He watched amusedly as the clock ticked onto the hour, and the stuffed parrot that surmounted it broke into telling a particularly dirty joke. Harry wondered absently whether the ladies' had a similar installation, before leaving the room to stride down the wide stone corridor.

He dissipated his glamour, coming to a halt in front of the chamber doors, guarded by a pair of aurors who were failing to regard him with the required degree of impassivity.

"Hi!" He greeted them brightly, smilingly projecting the full measure of his charm.

The two just stared, taking in a set of robes they couldn't have been more surprised by had they been embroidered with dancing flamingos, which, to be fair, with Dumbledore about, was entirely possible.

"I must apologise for my late arrival." Harry continued airily, as if completely unaware of their bewilderment. "But then, it does seem faintly ridiculous to have the chamber six floors underground when half of the members are really very old." He paused and looked at them expectantly for a moment.

"Might I be let in?" He inquired eventually.

One of the aurors, an older woman, snapped herself back together.

"Of course, my lord," she began respectfully, "although, might I beg a moment to examine your ring?"

Harry wordlessly extended his hand.

The auror leant forwards intently, and Harry wondered playfully whether she was going to kiss the ring as if he were the Pope. Eventually, however, she merely stood back, eyeing him with more than a suggestion of awe in her expression.

"Welcome back, Lord Potter."

Harry grinned at her blindingly, and briefly considered telling her that it was good to be back.

"Might I be permitted to join their eminences now?" He prompted gently instead.

The woman nodded briskly, apparently now back into character. She and her silent colleague wordlessly took a handle each and pushed the heavy doors open.

The chamber beyond was large and circular, the floor open in the centre for a speaker to stand. Tiers of elevated seating ringed it.

It appeared that the meeting had not yet settled down, with the members and their aides chatting away happily to one another. Dumbledore, standing in the second tier, had been distracted from trying to bring everyone to order by another elderly gentleman having come up to engage him in conversation.

Harry's arrival served to bring silence considerably more effectively than any attempt the Chief Warlock had made. These people were used to ignoring entrances; paying attention to those they considered unimportant was beneath their dignity. The doors of the chamber opening after the meeting should officially have begun was, however, sufficiently unusual to draw some eyes. It was those eyes being pinned in place by Harry's entrance that gradually attracted the rest of the crowd's attention.

Harry came in, a mixture of amusement and excitement getting rid of any nerves he might otherwise have felt. He had to bite back his laughter when he saw Dumbledore, finally extricating himself from the conversation of his entirely oblivious companion, glance round. The old man's eyes widened, before he frowned deeply. Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief, that his calculations had indeed been correct, and that the silence that now reigned would prevent Dumbledore hurrying him off to hide in a corner.

Not wanting Dumbledore to seize the initiative, Harry began.

"Morning everyone." He began, smiling brightly.

"I must apologise for interrupting all of your important conversations." Harry began, forcing away any hint of irony. "I just wanted to say hi to you all, and slip in a quick motion before the assembly convenes properly, as long as no one minds. I'm Harry Potter, by the way, and I understand that I've been thought missing for some time?"

He saw Fudge standing there, happy to be keeping up for once. Dumbledore himself actually seemed somewhat lost for words. The assembly gradually began to sit, apparently of its own volition. A few of the sharper reporters in the higher seats began to scribble busily. It was a middle aged man in the front row, the seats reserved for The Twenty, who spoke first.

"You claim to be Lord Potter?" He asked peremptorily, dark eyes assessing.

Harry turned to face him, and inclined his head marginally. "I do, Lord Crouch." He replied simply, noting the crest on the back of the unoccupied seat next to the man. He took out a wand, this one borrowed from the Potter vaults.

" _Verum Meanus,"_ he said firmly. He smiled when he saw Crouch's eyes widen in shock.

"I am Lord Potter, The Boy Who Lived, firstborn and only son of James and Lily Potter." A second gesture dispelled the magic that would have killed him had it found problem with his words.

A moment later Lord Crouch inclined his own head, mirroring Harry's nod from before.

"Welcome to the Wizengamot, Lord Potter." He said drily.

"Thank you."

"Harry…" Dumbledore had managed to recover himself sufficiently to interject. Unfortunately for him, Lady Longbottom had also decided it was her turn.

"I take it you would like your Wizengamot seats?" She questioned sharply. Harry turned to face her, acknowledging her with a nod and smiling slightly at a Neville, before responding.

"I'll take anything your Ladyship would like to give me." He said, barely restraining himself from bursting out laughing at her frozen face and faint blush. A significant portion of the audience was not so reserved. Thankfully the disapproving looks seemed to be more than equalled by the expressions of mirth.

"I think that a rather inappropriate comment." She responded tartly, after a few seconds.

"I must apologise. I fear my nerves and lack of knowledge with regard to Wizengamot procedure have made me express myself unfortunately."

That didn't seem to mollify her, but it did make her stop speaking.

"Lady Longbottom is, however, correct, in that I would politely request that the Wizengamot see fit to accord me the seats my family has held on this august body for the past half millennium."

Minister Fudge, although perhaps not in possession of the most incisive of political minds, knew his script.

"Ahem," He began, apparently fearing that the first part of his speech would otherwise be unheard because no one was paying attention to him. "I think I speak for the Ministry as a whole when I welcome Lord Potter to Britain's wizarding community. I am sure that we are all quite curious about where he has been for all of these years, but I think it apparent he is quite well, even after being mislaid by the Chief Warlock." That provoked some laughter, which made Fudge himself titter slightly and blush. A few of the sharper of those assembled were now looking at the Minister curiously; seemingly having come to the realisation that someone like Fudge would not be responding to a situation this smoothly without significant forewarning.

"I must thank you for your kind words, Minister. I fear I must now ask for the guidance of your extensive experience in learning how I might request that the Wizengamot acknowledge the assumption of my seats."

Part of the Wizengamot was still largely bewildered by proceedings. The other members, just about keeping up, were quickly growing suspicious of this blatantly choreographed exchange. Dumbledore was frowning deeply, but Harry was carefully prodding Fudge to keep up the necessary momentum.

"I would be honoured, my boy." Fudge replied cheerfully, apparently delighting in the all-too-rare opportunity of being more informed than his colleagues. "Although it's really very simple; a motion is put forward, and, whether following debate or not, the Wizengamot release their voting spheres, which gather in the pool…" he said, gesturing importantly to a circle of inky liquid sitting placidly in the stone floor in front of the assembly. "The members of the Wizengamot then cast a spell to send their decision to their spheres, which will emerge from the pool once every vote present has been cast. Those spheres which remain white oppose the motion, whilst black, symbolic of the ink of words written into law, indicates support."

"Thank you for explaining it to me, Minister. Would it be possible, and not too presumptuous, to ask for a vote to take place now?"

Fudge smiled indulgently, if a little fixedly.

"Of course, of course. It is, in fact, tradition that matters pertaining to The Twenty are considered first by the Wizengamot. Would you like to phrase the motion you would like to put forward?"

"I would be honoured, Minister Fudge." Harry paused. "The Wizengamot acknowledges Lord Harry Potter as a full member of The Twenty and of the Wizengamot, according to him all of the rights and privileges due to him by birth, heritage and ancient right, in the eyes of the government of wizarding Britain, accepting him at his present age and state of mental capacity."

Most of the Wizengamot looked surprised by his confident delivery, though a few were rolling their eyes. An ancient lady seated just behind The Twenty stood slowly, and, introducing herself to Harry as Griselda Marchbanks, longest serving Elder, repeated Harry's words from a scroll that had obviously automatically recorded them, before moving on.

"I remind the body that the motion, as required by all those involving a member of The Twenty, requires a two-thirds majority of those votes assembled to pass. A quorum is present."

Harry restrained himself from grinning as he saw Fudge's smile become frozen. He recovered gamely enough, however.

"Well, I see no need to debate the motion." He said quickly. "I myself will be supporting it."

A faint gasp went around the room, both at this bucking of procedure, and at a show of decisiveness from the Minister. Dumbledore made to stand, still frowning deeply, but Elder Marchbanks had begun to speak once more.

"The Minister has asked the Wizengamot to vote on the proposed motion. I ask those assembled release their votes."

A slow movement engulfed the confused Wizengamot as they gradually reached for clear glass spheres, each about an inch in diameter and filled with white mist, and tossed them toward the centre of the room. The inky pool seemed to shimmer slightly as it drew them all in. The surface of the liquid began to tremble slightly, and the last few voting orbs were drawn forcibly from robe pockets. Dumbledore jumped as his own zoomed beyond his reach.

The pool settled, and a gesture from Elder Marchbanks had people drawing wands, those unable to perform the charm silently murmuring softly.

Every eye in the room became focused intently on the pool, which remained entirely still for more than a minute before disgorging its contents. The spheres rose up in an amorphous mass, before dividing neatly into two groups in mid-air.

The black mass was vastly larger than the white.

Fudge looked confused, his supporters surprised. Dumbledore looked upset, his supporters nonplussed. Lady Longbottom looked blank, Lord Crouch impressed.

"I make it seventy eight votes in favour, twelve against." Elder Marchbanks proclaimed after a moment, voice as agedly stolid as before. No one disagreed with her.

Harry inclined his head before briefly before smiling brilliantly, even as he felt voting spheres materialise in the pocket of his own robes.

"I must thank the Wizengamot for such a decisive demonstration of support." He said, before ascending moving to take one of the burgundy-upholstered seats emblazoned with the Potter family crest. At this point most of the reporters in the upper tiers fled the gallery. Some minutes of confusion followed as everyone began chatting to their neighbour, regularly darting looks at an unconcerned Harry.

"Hi Neville! I hope you don't mind me sitting next to you."

Neville seemed to be several minutes behind happenings, but managed to shake his head and stutter a faint "No." eventually.

"That was quite a performance you gave there." Lady Longbottom told him, from her position on Neville's other side.

"Thank you, Augusta. I must express a certain amount of disappointment that you felt yourself unable to support me, but I understand your reasons for doing so."

A faint widening of her eyes confirmed his surmise.

"Do you play Quidditch, Neville?" He asked, changing the subject before Augusta was forced to respond.

"Umm, no."

"Shame, I thought I'd try to learn to play over the summer. Would you be willing to teach me, Augusta?" He asked flippantly.

She just frowned.

"Harry."

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore. I should thank you for your support of the motion, my gratitude is yours."

"Yes, well, it seemed only right. I'm impressed, however, that you managed to get Minister Fudge to back your proposal."

"Oh, the Minister and I are old friends." Harry responded brightly. _Let him run around investigating that one,_ he thought amusedly, even as he watched the professor's expression tighten.

"That's good to hear." He said eventually.

"Yes, I thought you might need some help getting the motion the support it needed, so I dropped by and asked the Minister for a hand so as to relieve some of the burden from you."

"That was… very kind of you Harry. I must say, however, that I am a little surprised that you've turned up to the assembly in person."

Harry shrugged. "Well, why not? I thought it would be fun to make a bit of a splash."

"You certainly managed that, my boy." Dumbledore agreed, before going silent to stare at Harry.

"You know…" Harry said, trying not to be too pointed, "I'd have thought that the Wizengamot would have had other matters to discuss today."

"Indeed it does." Dumbledore said genially, turning after a moment to return to his seat and call the assembly to order. Those present appeared reluctant to tear themselves away from their conversations, but Dumbledore eventually managed to get them focused on the question of intervention in some sort of uprising in Albania.

Harry sat back to watch the dynamics, ignoring the glances still regularly darted his way.

The assembly paused for a late lunch eventually, house elves delivering food to most of the members, reporters and aides taking out packed lunches.

Harry was just finishing his own meal when he was approached by a short man dressed in heavy robes of orange and gold.

"Lord Shafiq." He greeted the man, standing to receive him.

Dark brown eyes probed, hawk-like, from a middle-eastern face.

"Lord Potter." He replied, inclining his head graciously. "I am gratified to bear witness to your return; I had feared that once Dumbledore mislaid you we might never be honoured by you presence again."

Harry grinned internally, delighted to play with someone clearly more proficient at the game than either Augusta or Fudge.

"And I am equally delighted to be able to assuage your concerns on that score, although I would note that I was never Dumbledore's to mislay."

Lord Shafiq didn't so much as blink. "My apologies. I must introduce you to my son, Liram, although I fear he neglected to join me today."

Harry smiled. "I'd love to meet him. I'll be starting at Hogwarts next month, and I believe we'll be in the same year."

"Indeed, along with Master Longbottom." Lord Shafiq actually frowned as he spoke of Neville, apparently unimpressed. Thankfully both he and his grandmother had wandered off to speak to someone on the other side of the stands.

"I'm sure I'll become good friends with the both of them, although I fear ingratiating myself with Lord Malfoy's son will prove a marginally more challenging task."

Lord Shafiq chuckled. "I suspect it might. I wanted to ask whether you would do me the honour of calling on us before term begins?"

"I'd love to. I'll be accessible by owl, and should be fairly available."

His companion chuckled again. "I suspect you will find yourself quite popular."

"You flatter me. I was considering hosting a party so that I would be able to meet everyone." Well, everyone who mattered.

"An excellent idea, I suspect there are few diaries that wouldn't clear themselves for you at the moment."

"Only at the moment?" Harry asked, eyes widened in hurt.

"Perhaps a little longer than that," Lord Shafiq reassured him lightly, smiling.

"That's good to hear. I must confess I've found you the most charming company I've encountered since returning to Britain."

"And how much company have you encountered thus far?" he was asked amusedly.

Harry grinned. "I fear telling you that would make my compliment rather less of one."

"I find myself close to parroting it myself to describe yourself."

"Have you recently returned from holiday?"

He grinned. "Not for thirty years."

"Then the nicest compliment I was ever almost given."

At this point their mutual self-congratulation was interrupted by the arrival of another member of The Twenty.

"Lord Diggory, Amos." He said loudly, pushing himself between the pair of them to face Harry and seize his hand. "I must say, most of us thought you were dead." He proceeded to laugh uproariously.

Harry almost joined him when he saw Lord Shafiq rolling his eyes behind the man, before he winked and stepped away to let Harry make friends.

"I fear rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated." Harry said. "Something I find myself grateful for when it has given me the opportunity to meet you, Lord Diggory."

The man beamed. "Very kind, very kind. I assure you I was one of those who voted you onto your seats. Us chaps must stick together, eh?" He laughed again, with what Harry felt was even less justification than the first time.

"Indeed, and I am grateful for your support."

"Delighted, my boy. You must meet Cedric." He hastily clarified when Harry raised an eyebrow. "My son, you know."

"Of course. Does he attend Hogwarts?" Harry inquired politely.

"He does, he does. Going into year five in next month, you know. His OWL year. Very important." Lord Diggory finished by nodding solemnly, before starting again. "He's taking fifteen. That's more than anyone else since Dumbledore."

"That's very impressive."

"Indeed it is, my boy. Maybe he could give you some help in your own subjects. You must have been abroad for all these years, and have missed so much." He said earnestly. "There's nothing quite like an English education."

"And the evidence of that is in front of me."

Lord Diggory thought for a moment before grinning broadly.

"Thank you, my boy. I think you and Ced would get along well. Do you shoot?"

Harry's pause was shorter than Lord Diggory's.

"Only those who bore me."

His new friend laughed loudly again and slapped him on the back.

"You really must come round for a weekend." He said, wiping a tear from his eye. "I must remember that one 'those who bore me', yes." He wandered off, still chuckling to himself.

"You appear to have entertained Amos, at least, Lord Potter." Said a cool voice from behind him.

Harry turned, using his own amusement to plaster a smile of genuine warmth onto his features.

"And I will rest easy tonight in that knowledge, Lord Malfoy. A pleasure to meet you."

Ice blue eyes failed to thaw.

"Likewise. I see that Dumbledore has managed to return you in one piece."

"Oh," Harry replied airily, "I suspect my transit was safer without him being involved in the logistics, although I have no doubt of his willingness."

The faintest hint of curiosity blossomed behind that frozen mask.

"Indeed. The tale of your childhood must be a fascinating one."

 _Smoother than Augusta,_ Harry mused internally.

"It is." He agreed. "But I thought I'd save it for a memoir, you know, when I want some more attention."

Lord Malfoy seemed unsure as to whether he was being ironic.

"A volume I would certainly buy."

"I'll make sure you have a space at the front of the queue. I understand your son, Draco, will be in my year at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, pondering how repetitive this topic of conversation was becoming.

"I believe that the two of you are indeed the same age."

Harry smiled. "Excellent. I look forward to making friends with him."

The faintest frown was the initial response to that.

"I'm sure the feeling will be mutual."

"Lucius, what are you doing?" Demanded an imperious voice.

Lord Malfoy turned smoothly to face Augusta, dark robes barely stirring.

"Merely welcoming Lord Potter to the Wizengamot, Lady Longbottom. I believe you found yourself unable to support his appointment. Surely not the spirit members of The Twenty should feel towards one another?"

Augusta frowned darkly, looking suspiciously at Harry for a moment, clearly wondering whether he'd told Malfoy.

"He is still very young." She said sanctimoniously.

"And no doubt in need of guidance." Malfoy responded.

"Which you will be providing?" Augusta asked incredulously.

"My door is always open to those who seek my counsel."

"And locks behind those who come through it."

"I'm sure Lord Malfoy merely intends to keep out drafts." Harry interjected lightly, before Augusta got out of hand.

"Of course. One's health can become terribly fragile as one ages."

 _That wasn't particularly veiled,_ Harry thought, _she must actually be irritating him._

"Are you threatening me?" Augusta said loudly, outraged.

 _Very not-veiled._

"I think that your ladyship has let her temper get the better of her. Perhaps it would be best to retire for a period." Malfoy suggested innocently.

Neville had looked rather frightened throughout the exchange, but thankfully chose this point to grip his grandmother's arm and steer her gently away. Harry suspected it was only her surprise that made her so pliable.

"You make interesting friends, Lord Potter." Malfoy noted, in a tone veering towards sardonic.

"Would you like me to show you how?" Harry said innocently, deciding that line was softer than any number of the others he was tempted to use.

Lord Malfoy's mouth twisted slightly in smirking amusement.

"Thank you, that won't be necessary. If you would excuse me, I must pay my respects to the Minister."

"Of course," Harry said agreeably, noting that Lord Malfoy clearly wanted him to note that he himself had been deemed a higher priority to greet than the Minister. Bearing in mind that the Minister had recently been dropped off the cliff of Lord Malfoy's interests, however, perhaps that wasn't such a compliment.

The meeting convened for a few further hours after lunch, finishing well before six. The Twenty were apparently as unwilling to sacrifice the latter part of their day as the early. After the session had drawn to its conclusion, Harry wandered over to the Minister.

"Minister Fudge, might we talk for a moment?"

Fudge looked at him with a nervous suspicion for a moment before his face relaxed into its politician's mask.

"Of course, Lord Potter, and what a pleasure it is to meet you at last." He replied, gamely trying to keep up the charade.

"Likewise," Harry responded briefly, not seeing any reason to.

* * *

Fudge led him to an antechamber off the corridor that led to the debating hall, leaving his accompanying auror to guard the door.

"You see I have fulfilled my part of our bargain also." He said, facing Harry.

Harry smiled faintly.

"Indeed. Although I find myself somewhat surprised you found yourself unable to tell me at our previous meeting, or during any of our correspondence, that a motion such as the one I put before the Wizengamot requires the approval of two thirds of the body?"

Fudge spluttered faintly and flushed. "I didn't see a need to," he said eventually, "when I knew the motion would pass regardless."

"Really?" Harry asked "When you don't control that sort of majority. You see, you decided the easiest way out of our bargain was for you to lend me the votes, see the motion fail, and, having fulfilled the explicit terms of your responsibility, end our relationship." He shrugged lightly. "You get excellent PR from having to tried to help the Boy-Who-Lived, a couple of headlines lambasting Dumbledore for not doing so, and your campaign funds restocked. An altogether elegant plan, even if you didn't really have to come up with it."

Fudge glared at him. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?" He growled.

"Most of it. However, I see now that we could never really have worked together. I merely come to propose another exchange of mutually beneficial favours before we part ways."

"What?" Fudge asked, face now mixing suspicion with confusion.

"Sirius Black." Harry told him succinctly.

"What?" Fudge repeated, paling and looking even more confused.

"Rescind the kiss-on-sight order."

"He betrayed your parents." Fudge said nervously, apparently now convinced that Harry was insane.

"He didn't, but you don't really need to know the details of that. What you do need to know is that an innocent man was locked away in Azkaban by Lord Crouch and Dumbledore. The lack of evidence, trial and credible testimony alone provide more than sufficient justification for you to do as I have asked, and you get to drag Crouch and Dumbles over the coals a bit in return."

It took Fudge a few moments to catch up.

"How do I know he's innocent?" He demanded. "The press will have a field day if they find me dropping the search for someone who does, in fact, turn out to be a mass-murderer."

"I should think my request for clemency in the case of the supposed betrayer of my parents compelling evidence." Harry said drily. "Anyway, I am currently sheltering him and providing him with full rights of sanctuary. I intend to bring his case before The Twenty at the soonest possible opportunity. If this all blows up, then you can just say you were humouring the Boy-Who-Lived, using him all along to recapture Black, whilst correcting the administrative cock-ups of your predecessors. Ticking the boxes that exemplify the supreme efficiency that characterises a ministry under your direction."

Fudge looked impressed.

"I'll do it."

Harry inclined his head. "You have my thanks."

* * *

Sirius and Remus stood waiting for him when he stepped into the entrance hall; the house willing to let him apparate into the grounds, but not yet sufficiently settled to permit him past its walls.

"I see they didn't lock you up then, Pup?" Sirius asked cheerfully.

"If they had, I suspect it would only have been for them to be able to stare at me more easily."

"Such an attention-whore." Sirius said fondly, getting a smack from Remus for the profanity. "Just like his father."

Harry almost snorted. "Hardly. Anyway, I'm finding it difficult to imagine a more hypocritical statement."

Sirius nodded. "True enough. Who'd you meet then?"

"Of The Twenty? I actually spoke to Shafiq, Malfoy and Diggory."

"The good, the bad, and the batshit insane."

Harry and Remus chuckled. "Apposite."

Sirius nodded. "I've given them all labels. Those ones just happened to sound snappy in that order."

"I don't think I dare ask how you describe the others."

"We can save that for another time." Remus agreed hastily. "Pensieve?" He suggested to Harry, both changing the subject and indulging his curiosity.

"Sure. Just as soon as I've changed." Harry said, indicating the stiff brocade robes in crimson and gold he was wearing with faint distaste.

The pair of them nodded.

They reconvened ten minutes later with Harry dressed more casually, having carefully replaced the robes on mannequin they demanded.

Sirius and Remus spent most of their time viewing the projection laughing; Harry carefully skipping through the lengthy sections of debate, which, whilst surprisingly interesting, were not exactly pertinent.

"I've never seen anyone handle Amos so well." Sirius said admiringly. "I couldn't stand him as a child; he was a few years above me at Hogwarts and just as pompous then as he seems to be now, but without being endearingly chubby."

"Lord Shafiq seemed equally impressed." Remus noted.

"Well, we're basically best friends now, so it sort of comes with the territory." Harry replied. "I think Malfoy and I are going to get along well, too."

"Forgive me for being somewhat sceptical." Remus said.

"Mutual respect is the beginning of every great rivalry." Harry said sanctimoniously.

"Well, at least you're not planning to make friends." Remus said, nodding approvingly.

"Allies, enemies, transient. Friends, always. For are we not all gentlemen first?"

Remus rolled his eyes, whilst Sirius looked unsure whether follow his friend's lead or deliver a lecture on the evils of the House of Malfoy.

"I might have to frame a picture of Dumbledore's expression when he saw you." He said eventually, grinning mischievously.

"As long as you hang it in your room." Harry said with fake severity, channelling his aunt.

"I was thinking of swapping it for my mother's portrait in the entrance hall."

"I think you'll see tomorrow that I've had a better idea."


	10. Chapter 10

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-X-

The next day saw them all up early. The five of them; even Aunt Mim was available at half six most mornings, sat around the table in the breakfast room it had been decided was infinitely more suited for so few to eat in.

The much-anticipated pop of a house elf's arrival had them all turning eagerly.

Kreacher came over to Harry and placed a large stack of papers in front of him. The urgency of his mission had been impressed upon him to such an extent that those he presented were neither carefully ironed, nor on a silver tray.

The Daily Prophet sat on top of the pile.

 _'The BOY-WHO-LIVED RETURNS'_ blared the headline, text dully factual, but font twice the usual size.

"They could have gone with _'BOY-WHO-LIVED LIVES!'_ " Sirius suggested disappointedly. "That would at least have some measure of irony. I like the photo though."

An enormous photo of Harry was plastered to the front page, waist-up, standing in front of the doors of the Wizengamot chamber, and smiling lazily.

"It's not bad." Harry admitted, as he turned the paper back round to stare into his own eyes.

"The article?" Remus asked.

Harry scanned what text they'd managed to fit beneath the attention-grabbing stuff. _'Thunderstruck Wizengamot… missing saviour arrives to the apparent confoundment of Chief-Warlock… Minister Fudge supports demand that he accede to his seats on the Wizengmot three years earlier than he would ordinarily be allowed to… no clue as to whereabouts, past or present… anticipated to be attending Hogwarts in September._

He read these salient points out to them, before handing the paper over for Remus to look at the following two pages of article.

"They chose a boring feature writer." Sirius said, pouting slightly.

"I should probably just be thankful they didn't let that Skeeter woman flood it with her ridiculous purple prose."

"Oh, I don't know," Sirius replied lightly, "she'd have liked the opportunity to do another hatchet job on Dumbledore."

"I think even the people who don't like him have had enough of those from her. Anyway, how about this?" He suggested, smiling slightly as he held up a copy of The Quibbler.

Sirius grinned back even more broadly as he took in the big photo of the bewildered looking Dumbledore.

 _'Chief-Warlock POSSESSED by Rogue Crumple–Horned Snorkack.'_ Declared the batty headline.

"Xenophilius is my new favourite person." Sirius declared. "Even if he is still going on about those bloody imaginary Snorkacks of his."

"Mmm, he's asking his readers to fund an expedition so that he can go to Sweden and actually find them, presumably to stop them possessing important and much-loved politicians."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "And the others?" He asked, gesturing towards the pile.

"Mostly similar to The Prophet. Oh dear." He said, both amused and faintly embarrassed as he reached the bottom publication.

Sirius leaned forwards.

"Bahahaha." He burst out laughing, falling back into his chair. Dorea and Aunt Mim chuckled softly.

 _'HOTTEST BOY-WHO-LIVED?'_ asked Teen Witch Weekly. An enormous close-up of Harry's face filled the rest of the magazine's front cover. It showed him wearing the flirtatious grin he'd given Lady Longbottom during their initial exchange in front of the assembly the previous day.

"I think that should replace my mother's portrait instead." Sirius suggested.

Harry growled. "This is definitely sexual harassment of a minor, or something." He said, looking at his aunt.

She raised her eyebrows innocently, amusement plain. "I fear I know little about that sort of thing in the wizarding world." She said.

"And, to be fair, you did sort of bring this down on yourself with what you said to Lady Longbottom." Remus said, faking seriousness.

"I was nervous. It seemed like the easiest way to get her to shut up."

"Well, it worked." Sirius said. "It's probably got you lots of new fans as well." He noted, before beginning to read the accompanying article, having snatched the magazine.

"Do I want to know?" Harry asked with a pained expression.

"I doubt it."

"So, plans for the next fortnight?" Remus asked.

"Thanks," Harry said, grateful for the change of subject. "Well, we're going to have to hire a staff, and get the decorators in here. I'm going to need to meet with the senate in Antheon. I think Lord Shafiq wanted a meeting, but he'll owl about that."

Remus nodded.

"I'll wait a couple of days and then ask Dumbledore about a position. Although," he said, frowning slightly, "I heard a rumour that he's lined up Mad-Eye Moody to take the empty DADA slot."

Sirius snorted. "Mad-Eye, a teacher? Dumbledore wants a generation of students scared shitless of their own shadow?"

"Language, Sirius." Dorea reprimanded smoothly.

"Sorry," he apologised, entirely unrepentant, "I wonder how Dumbledore even persuaded him to sign up. I mean, he trained a few batches of aurors, but he really doesn't have the temperament to coddle eleven year olds."

"Excitement, I suspect." Remus suggested. "Retirement must be agonising for someone like him, and Mad-Eye is about the only one who would actually find the supposed curse on the defence positions interesting rather than terrifying. He will probably kill a few students, though." He admitted.

"Sounds interesting." Harry said. "I think I'd like to meet him."

"I suspect not many people have said that about him." Remus noted

"Particularly not after they actually have met him.

"I think we'll be friends." Harry said cheerfully.

Sirius frowned. "You seem to be saying that a lot."

"I can't help it if people like me. It's the sheer magnetism of my personality."

"According to this article…" Sirius said jokingly, tapping Teen Witch Weekly, "it's your sex appeal."

"That too."

* * *

They went to pick up Harry's school supplies a couple of days later, Aunt Mim and Sirius accompanying him.

Harry was glamoured. Sirius was Padfoot. Aunt Mim was herself.

Astana Tattings, owner of Twilfitt & Tattings, actually dropped her measuring tape when she saw Harry walk into her shop and restore his own appearance.

"Lord Potter." She fluttered, curtseying deeply, once she'd gathered herself.

"Madame Tattings." He replied, noting the name embroidered onto her robes. "I've been informed that you are the only respectable option for sourcing Hogwarts robes?"

She nodded eagerly. "Indeed. Twilfitt and Tattings has been the purveyor of the finest quality student robes for nearly three centuries. The Potters have been customers for generations."

Harry smiled. "Then I'm glad to be continuing a tradition. I appreciate it's terribly impolite to barge in here without an appointment, but would it be possible to arrange a fitting with some degree of expediency?"

She nodded eagerly. "Immediately, my lord. I will fit you myself."

Half an hour later they walked back out into the sunshine, bearing promises of garments ready within a day.

"Books next?" Aunt Mim asked.

Harry agreed, and they made their way to Caxtwell & Son's, estd. 1476.

It was probably the most upmarket of the bookshops which still stocked the Hogwarts set texts, and in this case that exclusivity translated into the books for each subject having already been gathered into sets and bagged according to year. Harry listed his electives to a surprised looking assistant.

"Can I have them rebound as well, please?"

The assistant looked even more nonplussed, but they agreed that the books would all be clad in navy calfskin.

Harry and Sirius spent the time whilst they waited exploring. Aunt Mim looked around with some degree of curiosity, but not quite the same level of avidity.

They followed up with a trip to the apothecary, Harry buying far more than the requisite potion supplies.

They spent what Aunt Mim considered an inordinately long time in Quality Quidditch Supplies before both Harry and Sirius bought a Firebolt, along with collection of accoutrements.

"Do you want one, Aunt Mim?"

"I'm sorry?"

"A Firebolt. You know, muggles can fly broomsticks too."

"I'll stick to my jets. Speaking of which, I must go back now."

"Of course. We're honoured to have had the morning in your presence."

* * *

Ollivander's was their last stop. Harry had a wand, but it would certainly not adhere to any of the English Ministry's requirements.

The old man looked up as the entered. His shop was small but well-kept, with a polished counter opposite the entrance, comfortable chairs and glass display cases in the section customers could access.

"Lord Potter." He greeted Harry querulously. "I have been expecting you."

"Yes, sorry about that. I appreciate three years is a long wait, but I suppose it just heightens the anticipation?" Harry said hopefully.

The old man chuckled. "Indeed it does, indeed it does." He surveyed Harry through large moon-like eyes for a while, before turning suddenly and seizing a narrow box, which he placed on the counter.

"Try this."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but did as he was bidden.

Ollivander watched curiously.

The wand felt dead, even when Harry tried to force some magic through its length.

"I see." Ollivander murmured softly, before sharpening. "Lord Potter, it is my professional opinion that you are already bound to a wand."

Sirius snorted with confusion behind him, but Harry looked at Ollivander for a few moments before nodding.

"I am. It was my understanding, however, that that should not be a particular difficulty?" He asked curiously.

Mr Ollivander paused, muttering to himself under his breath, before speaking.

"It shouldn't. I can only suspect that your wand is particularly well and tightly bound to you."

Harry frowned. "You see, the wand I have I acquired overseas, and I fear that it does not adhere to the letter of ministry strictures."

"I should like to see this wand of yours, Mr Potter."

Harry paused.

"How far does your customer-client confidentiality extend?"

He was eyed inscrutably.

"It is absolute. My word is my bond, but I am, of course, willing to swear a binding oath of silence."

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to do that."

Ollivander nodded, and Harry had a bewildered Sirius perform the role of oathbinder as the old man swore against his life never to reveal any of the subsequent details of their meeting.

Harry grinned once they were finished, and drew back his sleeve to expose the auror-style wand holster strapped to his right forearm.

As soon as he drew the wand itself from its protective sleeve he heard Sirius expel a soft breath and step back. Ollivander froze, eyes locked and widened.

Harry paused to cast a few detection and security charms to prevent the recording and eavesdropping that wouldn't be covered by Ollivander's oath, before placing the wand carefully on one of the velvet pads on the counter.

"I didn't know you had a wand?" Sirius asked from behind Harry, apparently recovering himself enough to step forwards curiously.

Harry snorted

"I can do most things wandlessly, but it's still easier with, and much better for fine control. It would have been difficult to find tutors who were themselves comfortable enough to teach wandlessly, anyway. I have another, slightly more innocuous wand that I used for most training sessions. But this is _my_ wand."

They watched Ollivander pore over its length, nose nearly touching it as he drew out a jeweller's monocle.

"So what is it?" Sirius asked eventually. "I can feel the bloody power from here, and I'm not normally strong enough to detect even another wizard's magic."

Harry was about to answer when Ollivander stood back up.

"African blackwood and the heartstring of a nundu, thirteen inches." He said concisely.

"A nundu?" Sirius asked incredulously. "They're extinct."

"Most of the time, yes." Harry replied. "They seem to disappear and reappear from history down through the centuries. I believe it's currently theorised that they don't actually procreate, but are created in the desert by some amalgamation of rare natural phenomena. The heartstring in that wand came from the last known nundu, lured out to sea by the Egyptian army in 1798. He drowned, but not before destroying a string of settlements throughout north Africa, and killing an estimated twenty thousand in the Great Massacre of Alexandria."

"That's probably why I can feel the power." Sirius said, the strain in his levity betrayed by widened eyes.

"I have never seen a wand crafted from either of these materials." Ollivander noted, actually looking impressed. "I suspect that your own magic must be considerable, Lord Potter, for such a creation to deign to choose you."

"We can just about handle one another." Harry said lightly.

"Where exactly did you get a wand like that?" Sirius asked, now sounding slightly suspicious.

"Maybe I'll tell you one day." Harry said, shrugging.

"You didn't steal it, did you?"

"You'd love it if I had."

Sirius nodded. "Probably."

Harry refocused his attention on Mr Ollivander.

"Anyway, once you've finished admiring, would it be possible to think about solving my problem."

"Quite, quite." The old man seemed suddenly quite excited. "I think that the issue is as much the magic of your existing wand as it is your own. A wand like yours will have a certain degree of independent will, and I believe that it would appreciate a certain amount of say in the selection of its mate."

Harry raised an amused eyebrow.

"I suspect your assessment is accurate. Are you able to make any suggestions?"

Ollivander paused.

"I have one possibility." He scurried back between the ceiling-high stacks of wand boxes, disappearing from sight for a few moments, before coming back clutching one, longer than most.

He placed it in front of Harry reverently.

"I must ask you, now, Lord Potter, to repeat the oath I made to you."

Harry did as he was bidden, curious about the box's contents.

"This, out of all the many thousands of wands I have produced, is one I am more proud of than almost any other."

He opened the box ceremoniously.

"Twelve and three-quarter inches. Basilisk fang. I would like you to tell me about the core, Lord Potter."

Harry looked at him curiously again, before returning his gaze to the beautifully carved bone-white wand. Like with his other, he could feel the raw hum of magic, a vibration of almost living power clinging to it.

He stretched out a hand and plucked the wand from its cushioning. His own magic purred in instant approval. He picked up his other wand, and was strangely unsurprised when it also seemed to express a peculiar contentment.

He concentrated on the basilisk wand, musing over the old man's words, confused.

"It doesn't have a core." He said absently, unsure about the source of his sudden certainty.

Ollivander smiled. "Very good. And?"

Harry forced himself to grapple with the problem logically.

"Well, something must be neutralising the venom. Which is interesting, when even phoenix tears are supposedly unable to help when any significant amount has been injected, and to effectively neuter the fang of a basilisk as large as this one must have been would be a vastly more difficult task."

Ollivander nodded agreeably.

"Nicholas Flamel." He prompted suddenly.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Elixir of Life then, presumably."

Ollivander smiled.

"An old friend of mine. He was more than willing to give me some elixir to use in my experiments. I am told the potion would have lost its properties had I attempted to use it to prolong my own life, but research, research is the very foundation of alchemy. Steeping baslisk fang in Elixir of Life has made a quite extraordinary wand."

"Indeed. I am curious, however, as to your motivation for offering it to me?" Harry questioned.

Ollivander shrugged, smiling deprecatingly.

"I expect great things of you, Lord Potter. I would like one of my creations to be involved and celebrated. I am also able to charge one such as yourself a price concurrent with the materials and time spent."

Harry actually laughed. "Of course, and why should a comfortable retirement not be an admirable ambition?"

Ollivander nodded. "You are most understanding, Lord Potter."

Harry drew out a bearer book.

"Would it be possible to ask you cease providing information to Dumbledore about all of the wands you sell?" He asked casually.

Ollivander's eyes widened.

"Lord Potter, I have no idea what rumours you have been listening to." He said sharply.

"Then let us make it more abstract. I would ask you to swear an Unbreakable Vow which prevents you from providing Dumbledore with information, irrespective of whether that is in fact a practice you currently indulge in, and in return I pay you generously for my excellent new wand."

He ignored a silent Ollivander for a few moments as he sketched out a bond for ten thousand galleons and laid it on the counter.

Ollivander eventually wordlessly extended his hand to clasp Harry's, who gestured Sirius forward. He formulated the oath, and Ollivander repeated it calmly.

Harry signed the bond with a flourish and presented it to the man.

"My thanks."

* * *

Sirius followed him from the shop wordlessly, only speaking once they were sat comfortably in the window of an expensive restaurant.

"You bribed Ollivander!" He exclaimed in a fierce whisper which was probably less quiet than he'd hoped.

"I merely paid a craftsman what I felt was a fair price for a piece of his workmanship, after having reassured myself about his entirely above-board ethical practices." Harry said, trying for sanctimonious.

Sirius eyed him. "It's no fun when you have an answer for everything," he said eventually, pouting.

Harry shrugged. "I try."

They had a relaxed lunch, full of laughter and excellent food. Afterwards, Sirius dragged Harry off to Zonko's Joke Shop, assuring him that it was necessary for an aspiring marauder to be properly equipped, although noting that what they sold wasn't in the same league of outrageous as some of the things he'd managed.

"It sounds like I'm going to have to blow up the whole damn school to outclass you." Harry said drily, when Sirius had finished telling a particularly lengthy story involving a Professor Slughorn and half the contents of restricted greenhouse three.

"Probably." Sirius said, nodding wisely. "Though maybe wait until seventh year for that one. It could be a back-up plan in case you fuck up an exam."

"If I fuck up an exam then I think that the least drastic course of action."

"You're like Remus and Lily rolled into one."

"Well, one gave birth to me and the other has been my tutor and friend for more than a decade."

"Understandable then, though I pity you."

Harry nodded in mock sympathy for himself.

* * *

"Quidditch?"

"Yes. It's the wizard sport, well, the biggest one."

"You want me to go to a sports match and sleep in a tent?"

"I want you to attend an enormous social event where lots of reporters will be, meeting the best of British wizarding society."

"And the accommodation?"

"Will be more than up to your exacting standards."

"Fine, I'll come."

"Excellent."

"Why do we need to leave on Friday when the match isn't until Saturday?"

"Because the social event thing, the bit you'll actually enjoy, I'm hosting, is on Friday evening. Everyone stays overnight anyway, and seeing as the match could drag on for days they like to make themselves comfortable."

"You're all magic. Why on earth would you camp when you can be back at home?"

"For the excitement and sense of community, of course. You'll love it anyway; the Ministry, in some random flight of bureaucratic fancy, has decided the whole event is muggle themed."

His Aunt's lips actually quirked in amusement. "So the idea is that these wizards pretend to be muggles for a couple of days?"

"I think that's basically it. It sort of smacks of Dumbledore's involvement to me, what with the muggle-understanding and dressing up."

"So I'll get to meet your new headmaster?"

"Probably. He's bound to wander in at some point; I've invited him to the gathering."

She smirked at him. "Gathering? Are you trying to make it sound grown up?"

"I'm trying to avoid the word party. I suspect a fourteen year old inviting you to a party lacks a certain gravitas in the minds of most people."

"You mean we're not all getting drunk together and having a disco?"

"Is that really how you meet new people?"

She pouted. "It's how I want to meet new people; your 'event' is sounding remarkably like the cocktail evenings I attend for work."

"The ones of those I've been to haven't been that bad."

"You could just stand there and be outrageous and everyone thought it was charming. I have to laugh politely and network and actually listen to people's anecdotes and remember the names of their children."

"Poor you. Let's hope the company at this one makes up for it. You and Granny are the hostesses, after all."

"That's probably the shortest notice I've ever been given for something like that."

"I know your social calendar is normally booked up six months in advance, but you can do this for me?"

"I've said yes, haven't I?"

"Yup, so you can stop whinging now."

* * *

"Are you sure about this?"

"Define 'Sure'"

Sirius frowned slightly in irritation, but his posture lost some of its nervousness.

"As in 'Confident of obtaining the acquittal of your beloved godfather'."

Harry tilted his head to one side as if weighing the odds, whilst smirking in faint reassurance.

"Of that? About as certain as I am that Ireland will win the World Cup and the sun will rise in the sky tomorrow."

Sirius let himself be distracted.

"A thousand Galleons on Bulgaria."

"Done."

This arrangement sorted, they let their conversation lapse as Sirius focused on his air of nonchalance and Harry ran over his plan.

On the stroke of midday half a dozen fireplaces around the walls of Courtroom One burst into green flame.

Harry mentally noted down reactions as The Twenty noticed Sirius, slouched with every appearance of calm in a seat at the front of the room.

Lord Crouch was the first to speak.

"I demand to know the meaning of this outrage." He spat out, as soon as he had composed himself sufficiently.

"Not even a thank you?" Harry asked him, stalling for a little time as the last few attendees stepped through the fireplaces.

"What?"

"Two weeks in Britain and I'm already apprehending violent criminals and ensuring justice is done. I think that some reasonable grounds for gratitude." Harry told him.

"Thank you, Lord Potter." A stern faced middle-aged witch with short grey hair told him. "I must now request that you step away from Mr. Black."

Harry smiled at her, disconcerting the milling group somewhat.

"Although I have little specific knowledge, I would think it somewhat unusual for the judge to ask the defendant's counsel to abandon their client."

Lord Crouch sputtered.

Lady Bones raised a curious brow. "Might I ask for some clarification?"

Everyone had arrived, so Harry saw no reason not to provide.

"I must thank The Twenty for their attendance at such short notice. I call to order this meeting of the Supreme Court of Wizarding Britain…" that caused some muttering "…for the purpose of conducting the trial and adjudicating in the case of Sirius Orion Black. Might I invite Lady Bones to chair?" He said, inclining his respectfully, and indicating the judge's stall.

"It would perhaps be more appropriate for the Ministry to organise a trial, Lord Potter." Lady Bones suggested, frowning as she tried to work out exactly what was going on.

"My apologies for not observing the proper courtesies, but I felt that with a matter of such delicacy and importance, this was the most appropriate course of action."

"The man is a convicted criminal. He doesn't need a bloody trial." Lord Crouch interjected angrily.

Harry raised a brow at the man, gaze suddenly icy.

"And apparently never did, Lord Crouch."

There was a momentary pause before Crouch's face paled with realisation.

"I'm sorry?" Lady Bones asked, still apparently somewhat confused.

"Sirius Black, although incarcerated for some considerable period of time in Azkaban, is neither a trialled nor convicted criminal. I fear that in the midst of the last war it must have been difficult for the Ministry to arrange such matters, particularly when the trial of an heir to a House of The Twenty requires a full session of the Supreme Court, something quite apparently impossible under the circumstances. I propose that the trial, circumstances having changed somewhat, take place now."

Lady Bones eyed an ashen but furious Lord Crouch before nodding briskly.

"Very well." She turned to The Twenty, now silent.

"Are there any objections to my chairing of proceedings?"

Harry thought a few looked like they wanted to challenge, but were struggling for justifications to do so.

"Excellent." She strode forward to take her seat.

Training and protocol now took over, as those assembled took their seats. Harry remained standing.

"Lord Potter, might I ask you to be seated?" Lady Bones asked icily.

"Is my Defense Counsel not allowed to stand?" Sirius asked her, speaking for the first time.

Lady Bones, apparently not having picked up on that part of Harry's statement earlier, looked shocked for a moment.

"You're defending him?" She asked, somewhat incredulously.

"I am. Can I appeal for a prosecution?" Harry asked sardonically.

Lord Crouch instantly leapt to his feet.

"It seems I can." Harry noted.

"The charges against the accused?"

Lord Crouch cleared his throat, summoning justifications of his own actions thirteen years previously.

"The betrayal of the Fidelius of Lord James Hardwin Potter to the Dark Lord, resulting in the murder of him and his wife by the aforementioned. The murder of the Peter Pettigrew, trusted confidant and close friend of the Lord Potter. The murder of forty two muggles."

Lady Bones nodded solemnly.

"Sirius Orion Black, you confirm your identity?"

"I do."

"How do you plead?"

Sirius took a deep breath, hoping his godson knew exactly what he was doing.

"Justified."

Everyone looked nonplussed.

"I'm sorry?" Asked the judge, for the second time.

"My client claims that the crimes of which he is accused, irrespective of whether he did in fact commit them, would be rendered immaterial by the circumstances."

"Circumstances?" Crouch interjected explosively.

Lady Bones ignored him. "'Would be', Lord Potter? This court does not deal in hypotheticals."

"I think it would be best for all concerned if it suddenly did." Harry told her.

"Explain."

Harry shrugged, gesturing expansively.

"The death of Lily and James Potter and forty two muggles, and the disappearance, presumed death, of Peter Pettigrew weighed against the apparent destruction of the most dangerous Dark Lord in centuries. In that destruction, justification."

"Clarify." Lady Bones instructed, curiosity overcoming irritated confusion.

"If, for some reason, perhaps a prophecy, it was come to be understood that I was able kill Voldemort…", his audience was sufficiently impassive to not react to the name beyond a few frozen expressions, "...then I suspect that my parents might be selfless enough to sacrifice their own lives to lure the Dark Lord to his destruction. It seems reasonable that the brave Gryffindor of a best friend that Sirius Black was to James Potter would nobly volunteer to be captured and tortured by Voldemort into revealing the Fidelius, risking his own life and accepting the likely death of the man who was a brother to him.

Fidelius broken. Dark Lord arrives. Kills and is killed. Tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands of lives saved."

Sirius looked as bewildered as anyone else by this tactic.

"If?" Lady Bones questioned eventually.

Harry smiled at her.

"Alternatively, we can have my client not actually being the Secret-Keeper."

Lord Crouch snorted in derisive amazement.

"Pray continue." Lady Bones instructed.

"Sirius Black too obvious. Peter Pettigrew a much better option to hold the Fidelius. Everyone under the impression that it was Sirius as additional security. Peter's secretly a death eater. Shock-horror. Fidelius betrayed. Potters and Dark Lord dead. Sirius furious. Chases Peter. Fights with Peter and wins. Both kill lots of muggles. Peter, secretly a rat animagus, cuts off finger and transforms, fleeing into a drain. Sirius, understandably, driven a little insane by all of these happenings is picked up by Law Enforcement and sent straight to Azkaban. It's war, after all."

Lord Crouch had gathered himself.

"And which of these fantasies will you be going for, Lord Potter?" He sneered.

Harry shrugged. "Either."

"Lord Potter, would you come up with one story before I'm forced to break out the Veritaserum in exasperation?" Lady Bones told him.

"Of course." Harry replied, giving her a polite nod of acknowledgement. "If we are involving Veritaserum then I think you had better focus your questioning of my client on the corroboration of the second possible explanation."

He paused, indulging himself a little in the drama of the situation.

"Naturally, should that seemingly unlikely tale all prove to be, in fact, true, then we have to ask ourselves how such a travesty was allowed to happen. The Heir to the oldest family in magical Britain imprisoned without trial for thirteen years. The public would be quite justified to start asking, if him, why not them? Extenuating circumstances can explain much, but the outrage of the general populace is, I suspect, considerably more fickle. We would have to find a person to blame for such happenings. Minister Hardings, may his soul rest in peace, has left us. But, the then Head of the DMLE, why they would be a logical person to ask, perhaps?"

Harry looked inquiringly at Crouch, whose eyes had widened at the latest of the day's many stunning realisations.

"Are you asking me to call your bluff, Lord Potter?" Lady Bones asked.

"Yes."

She paused, looking at Crouch, then the rest of her audience.

"I should personally think the first explanation quite sufficient." She said primly.

"Sirius Black killed Pettigrew and forty two muggles!" Lord Crouch suddenly accused in a thunderous voice.

"Indeed he did, but again, it was all for the Greater Good." Harry told him sanctimoniously. "I think, personally, that we should be lauding the fact that he has such dedication to his duty that he has spent the last thirteen years guarding the most dangerous of the Dark Lord's followers in Azkaban, allowing himself to be reviled by the wizarding public in order to infiltrate their ranks and find out the darkest details of their most secret plots."

Harry smiled charmingly.

"I think we should all be grateful for such superhuman dedication to duty, and I know that I am personally delighted that my godfather has chosen to now return to ordinary life so that he might support and care for me. Honourable members of the Supreme Court, let us give not only give an extraordinary retraction of all nonexistent charges, but come together in a vote of thanks to Sirius Orion Black."

Silence met his speech for a few seconds.

"Hear, hear." Said Lord Shafiq loudly, standing. "I think that a truly excellent speech, and defense of one's relative. I can only hope that I would be defended with such facility should any of my own naughtiness come to light." Here the chubby little man smiled merrily at those assembled. "It is, however, insulting, to even seek to compare myself with such a man. Such bravery and honour seem to me the very stuff of myth. May the bards compose great works in admiring approbation. I would like to propose we award to Sirius Orion Black the Order of Merlin, First Class, in what I think, in this case, is an entirely paltry recognition of such service to one's country."

Silence met his words too, before Lord Malfoy spoke up silkily.

"I must agree with Lord Shafiq."

A consensus was soon reached.

Harry smiled blindingly at Lady Bones.

"It seems the Supreme Court need not render a verdict today. Might I help your ladyship down?" He asked, extending a hand to help guide her on the steps of her rostrum.

She accepted gracefully.

"Well played, Lord Potter." She congratulated him, stern eyes now dancing with amusement.

"I must thank your ladyship for allowing me to be heard."

She inclined her head once, before stepping away to allow Sirius to come and crush Harry in a hug.

"That was fucking brilliant, Pup." He told him.

"I did tell you I was. And," he continued lightheartedly, "you managed to wangle yourself a nice new decoration. I'm told women love men with medals."

Sirius grinned wolfishly for a moment before frowning.

"I haven't exactly earned it, though, have I?"

Harry shrugged.

"Nor have a lot of recipients. Consider it some minor form of compensation for thirteen years in Azkaban."

Sirius didn't look entirely convinced, Gryffindor honour no doubt causing him prickles of discomfort, but nodded eventually.

"Congratulations, Mr Black."

Harry grinned at the still mischievously smiling Lord Shafiq.

"Thanks."

"I hope to hear about some of this naughtiness of yours when you eventually get around to inviting me to visit." Harry told him playfully.

Lord Shafiq's eyes twinkled in an entirely un-Dumbledorish fashion.

"There are so many examples that I must blame the delay in my invitation on my own inability to decide which to relate."

"I think the admission of your prevarication reveals sufficient weakness to excuse you from any offense."

Shafiq mock-sighed. "The advantages you charm out of me."

"Speaking of which, have I been able to charm your presence on Sunday?"

"You have indeed managed to persuade me to snub the Minister."

"A prescient decision; he notified me today of his own intention to attend."

Lord Shafiq chuckled softly. "His own gathering would, I suspect, have boasted a somewhat unimpressive guestlist."

"I expressed sympathy in my reply."

Shafiq struggled into a straight face. "Entirely appropriate."

"Sirius here is backing Bulgaria to win." Harry noted, bringing his godfather back into the conversation.

"And you are behind Ireland?"

"After the match against Peru? Krum is going to need to be beyond lucky to save them."

"Liram agrees with you."

"And you?"

Shafiq shrugged dismissively. "I care little for Quidditch, but will back Bulgaria if only to irritate my son."

"I'm sure Sirius doesn't have similarly ulterior motives."

"You think I would risk a thousand Galleons for the sake of it?"

"I know you would."

Shafiq raised an eyebrow. "I must support my generation, then. I will also bet you a thousand Galleons on a Bulgarian victory, and I'm sure Liram would stand with you, Lord Potter, and extend the same offer to Sirius."

Harry grinned. "Even it out then; we all put two thousand on the line, each winner collects a thousand from each loser."

Shafiq nodded briskly. "Agreed, although his mother will tell me off for encouraging him to gamble. You must call me Darius, by the way."

"Harry."

Darius checked a large gold pocket watch and sighed.

"And as soon as we reach first name terms I fear I must abandon my new friend."

"Don't let me keep you; I'm grateful as it is that you dropped no doubt important business to attend."

With a short bow their companion left, following the rest of the now departed Twenty through the Floo system.

As soon as the flames had vanished a young man in the corner of the room appeared from underneath the tell-tale heat haze effect of someone moving underneath disillusionment.

Harry smiled a greeting even as Sirius whipped out a wand.

"Sirius, meet Samuel Ardenny, Sam, meet my newly freed, rebranded and definitely not criminal godfather, Sirius Black."

"Pleased to meet you, sir" the young man said politely, extending a hand for a still-wary Sirius to shake.

"And you." Sirius said politely, looking at Harry questioningly.

"Sam here is the man who's going to make your story official."

"I'm with the Prophet." He explained helpfully.

"No offense, Sam, but are you sure you can trust him, Harry?"

"Of course. He's sworn a binding oath to write what I want and, to the best of his ability, see it printed. In return for his loyalty he gets a powerful patron and a string of big stories."

The mousey-haired reporter grinned. "See? It's all worked out."

Sirius looked largely reassured.

"Well, if Harry trusts you, then I suppose I do too."

"Excellent. Sam, if you owl over a final draft this evening I'll check through it and sign off on it to let your editor know it isn't a junior reporter's random fantasy. You should have it back in plenty of time to make the morning edition."

The reporter frowned faintly. "Isn't going to be a disadvantage, the editor knowing I'm 'your man'?"

"Possibly, but it's the easiest way to do things for now, and at the moment I'm popular enough that the Prophet will want to make me look good anyway. No one sufficiently influential is yet prepared to set themself against me, so I'm safe for the time being."

A nodded acknowledgement, a deep bow, and the reporter left.

"Well, you'll be a free and wildly popular man by tomorrow."

Sirius' eyes were wet with emotion as he hugged his godson again.

"Thank you, Pup." He whispered earnestly, allowing his relief to manifest properly now they were alone.

Harry grinned, blinking back his own tears. "I did promise I'd see you free. Now let's get back home."

"Home." Sirius repeated. "Odd that Grimmauld Place has always been that to me, but I haven't really considered it such until living with you guys."

Harry frowned.

"I get the impression that your actual parents were considerably less flexible than their portraits."

"You have no idea."


	11. Chapter 11

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-XI-

Harry took his Aunt's arm as Sirius checked the apparition coordinates one last time. Standard 'picture-in-your-head' apparition had been deemed too risky by the Ministry, with tens of thousands of arrivals in a short space of time. Instead, they'd set up a temporary arrangement of the kind used in the main London permanent apparition zones, where a patch of ground was gradually enchanted and bound to a set of wizard coordinates. As long as the apparator then had a vague idea of what the place looked like and where it actually was, then concentrating on the appropriate coordinates allowed the magic of a 'live' apparition hub to draw them in, hopefully almost negating the risk of splinching.

Harry grinned at an excited Sirius. Remus, counting down from three, had managed to secure a DADA position at Hogwarts, and his being seen associating with Harry, particularly with Sirius around, was hoped to no longer be cause for suspicion.

On 'One' he poured magic inward, focusing on the image of a stretch of cordoned-off grass with the relevant coordinates burned into it. It was only about fifteen miles they had to travel.

Once the apparition took hold he pushed magic into warding off the squeezy rubber tube sensation, not wanting to discomfort his Aunt too much.

They landed neatly and almost silently on the expected stretch of ground, Sirius winking into existence next to them with an attention-seeking pop a few moments later.

The four of them, casually dressed in muggle designer labels, looked with some amusement at the bewilderingly costumed wizards appearing around them. Dressing gowns seemed to be quite popular, many wizards apparently under the impression that they were the muggle equivalent of casual robes.

They attracted considerable attention, which Harry thought was somewhat ironic when he considered them to be the only ones he'd seen who were dressed even remotely sensibly.

The excitable wizard who directed them to their campsite almost fell over when he saw them, before handing over a map with a large pitch shakily circled.

Most of those travelling via the Ministry-arranged portkeys had arrived hours earlier, so many tents had already been set up. Pink ones and green ones. Big ones and small ones. Some with gardens and others with multicoloured flags, or festooned with the faces of various Quidditch players.

* * *

The Twenty apparently got to pitch their accommodation on a stretch of bluff overlooking the rest of the campsite. They could see house elves bustling around several partially-constructed edifices. The only one that looked completely settled was a large marquee of pale grey bearing the crest of the Malfoys, and surrounded by neat lawns scattered with live white peacocks.

"Wasn't it nice of them to arrange the Black pitch next to the Potter one?" Sirius commented as he took in the scene.

"Helpful, too," Harry commented, "I don't think our accommodations would have fitted otherwise."

Sirius snorted. "It can't be that big. I'd have offered you the Black tent, but my parents weren't terribly big on camping and must have got rid of it."

Harry grinned. "Don't worry."

He walked to the centre of the combined pitch, and reached into a pocket of his jeans, drawing out a pebble. Shaped like a flattened sphere a couple of inches in diameter, the piece of obsidian was deeply inscribed with tiny runes that covered the whole surface. He placed the stone on the grass, pressing it slightly into the earth

He paced back to join his watching companions.

"What…" Sirius began as Harry drew out his basilisk wand.

He stopped speaking as the stone in the centre of the rectangle lit up suddenly, a shaft of light rising straight into the sky. A second later it sank itself into the ground, both pebble and light disappearing as earth drew in to cover it.

He turned to see Harry focused on where it had disappeared, murmuring under his breath as his wand moved in complicated patterns. He stopped eventually, sweating slightly, but looking pleased with himself as he glanced back at his companions.

"Done." Harry declared, sounding entirely too satisfied.

"What…" Sirius began for the second time, before stopping once more as _it_ appeared. He rephrased what he was going to say.

"What the fuck?"

Harry grinned blindingly at his godfather.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Truth be told, I'm pretty proud of it myself."

"Harry…how?" Remus this time.

"Why don't we go inside, and I'll tell you?" Harry suggested, before leading them past the decorative fountains and gardens, up a flight of shallow steps and along the colonnade. The French doors opened automatically for them. They came into a large black-and-white tiled entrance hall to find the house elves Harry had already hired for Grimmauld Place bustling around with furniture and enormous vases of flowers.

He began to speak once they were all sat comfortable in the Orangery, admiring the expanse of the campsite beneath them through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"This is effectively a building that exists, and that I've temporarily transported here." He began, holding up a hand to stall further questions.

"If I explain how I think I've done it, then you can ask questions afterwards." He told Remus, whilst wondering whether he had to look forward to accompanying his every feat of magic with an explanatory lecture in the future.

"The building itself I had built on a stretch of unplottable ground in the muggle world a few months ago as an experiment. The stone I had is tied to the wards on the building. I then sink the wardstone here. The difficult bit is actually magically replicating the foundations for the building and wards to sit on, which is what I was doing to start with.

After that I just use the wardstone to summon the actual building. It has enough magic to hold it in place for about a week and return it after that. Personally I think it's a slightly neater solution than taking a tent and tacking on a load of expansion charms which are liable to fall apart at any time."

His aunt was the first to respond, smiling brightly at him.

"Well, I'm just glad it's not a tent." She said, surveying her elegant surroundings.

"I wouldn't ask you to host a party in a tent."

"This is… very impressive, Harry." A strangled sounding Remus complimented him.

"Thanks." Harry replied, genuinely flattered; such effusive praise from Remus was reserved for particularly extraordinary accomplishments by now.

"You came up with this alone?" Sirius asked.

"The theory, yes, and most of the enchantments and wards are mine. I didn't build the actual structure itself, and the wardstone was done by a master carver; I didn't trust myself to do it quite as well."

"You know, this is probably worth a Mastery in about three different disciplines." Remus asaid thoughtfully.

"Mmm, maybe, but it seems sort of cheating to take advantage of a pet project like that."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Only you would even hesitate."

Harry shrugged. "I don't really need the bits of paper. I'll probably pick up a few eventually, but the results are far more important to me than the actual trophy."

They chattered away for a while after that, enjoying the awestruck looks from passing witches and wizards, before having a light lunch in the dining room. After lunch Aunt Mim went off to check her rooms, before returning to offer Harry her help in preparing for the evening. Harry's new method of portable accommodation was as yet unable to arrive with the movable fixture and fittings.

* * *

Mid-afternoon saw the work finished and Harry stretched out comfortably on one of the expansive and well manicured lawns, basking in the warm sun.

"Hi."

His comfortable doze interrupted, Harry blinked lazily to look towards the unknown voice.

 _Fuck, he's hot._

"Hiya." He responded casually, flashing a blinding grin.

The boy dropped down onto the grass next to him.

"Lord Potter, I presume?"

"So they tell me. Liram, I presume?"

"That's my understanding." His companion replied in an amused voice.

"Then I'm Harry."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

"I like your palace."

"Cheers. I just hope it's big enough."

"I'm sure it's more than adequate." Liram told him laughingly. "My father's terribly jealous, you know."

"I hope your own accommodations aren't too uncomfortable." Harry said with faux-sympathy, even as he tilted his head to look past his companion and eye the enormous pavilion of golden silk under construction.

"I suspect we'll manage." Liram replied playing along.

"Well, if it doesn't work out then I suppose we can always donate our winnings to help him buy an extension."

Liram nodded. "That would probably be the charitable thing to do."

Harry grinned. "We can probably get a complimentary article in the Prophet out of it; young students supporting the elderly in their hour of need."

Liram laughed delightedly. "An excellent idea."

A companionable silence stretched between them for a few minutes.

"I hear we're going to be schoolmates the week after next."

"If you'll have me."

Liram smirked playfully. "I think we might just be able to fit you in."

"Thank Merlin. If I hadn't got your approval then I might have had to go to Beauxbatons."

"Then be grateful I've saved you from such a fate."

"Trust me, I am. I'm also happy your father hasn't managed to poison you against me."

Liram snorted. "Please. Poison me against you? He's more likely to try and adopt you from the way he goes on. Apparently you've provided him with more entertainment in the last week than he's had in years."

"You flatter me."

"Sorry, I'll try not to. Although, I do regret not attending that Wizengamot session. Seeing Dumbledore's reaction in person must have been hilarious."

Harry nodded, even as he wondered about Liram's attitude towards Dumbledore.

"It was. I'll let you have copy of the memory."

"I'll treasure it."

Their conversation lapsed again, Liram eventually jumping to his feet.

"Well, I should probably go and have some food before your party."

Harry nodded agreeably, sliding sunglasses back down over his eyes.

"I'll look forward to seeing you in an hour or so."

"Until then, Harry." Liram was grinning.

He smiled back up.

"Bye, Liram."

* * *

"How many are you expecting?" Aunt Mim inquired curiously, standing in front of a mirror as she put in her earrings.

"I sent out just over a hundred invitations. If most people bring a partner and a few some family, then at least two hundred."

She nodded, before turning round to face him in person.

"What do you think?"

"Breathtaking." He told her, entirely truthfully, taking in the flawless face and figure of his Aunt. "Although that dress is definitely a health hazard."

She raised an amused eyebrow. "I suspect your grandmother's reappearance is far more likely to give the old men heart attacks than a bit of leg."

"Have you seen your legs?"

She sighed. "You really should have been born straight."

He laughed. "Don't try to tell me compliments from a straight boy are nearly as flattering."

She smiled indulgently. "I suppose not. Everything is ready?"

"Of course. You're happy to be escorted by Sirius if I take Granny?"

"Less of the Granny, thank you very much, young man." A voice told him as she came in.

"You look stunning, dear." Harry's grandmother told Aunt Mim as she admired her daughter-in-law's sister.

"Thank you, Dorea, as do you." Aunt Mim said pleasantly before turning back to Harry. "That's fine. As long as Sirius behaves himself."

"Don't worry, I've told him to be on his best behaviour."

"I fear for you, my dear." Dorea noted ironically.

"At least you can have faith in your own escort, Grandmother." Harry noted cheerfully.

"Indeed." She noted, eyeing him with some appreciation. "Why are you wearing slippers?"

"They're evening slippers. They're perfectly acceptable at muggle black tie events."

"Without socks?"

"I have good ankles."

She rolled her eyes good naturedly.

"Do you like my dress?"

"C'est magnifique." He told her, admiring the elegant midnight blue garment, pleased he'd ended up choosing an evening suit of the same colour. "Although I think both of you have gone slightly over the top on the jewellery." He suggested jokingly, taking in the waterfall of stones around Aunt Mim's neck.

"I haven't had an excuse to wear this in nearly twenty years, young man." Dorea told him severely, lightly touching her tiara.

"And I would be honoured to escort your Majesty." Harry told her, bowing deeply.

She smiled graciously. "Much better."

"Evening all." Sirius greeted them cheerfully as he strolled into Aunt Mim's bedroom before stopping short at the sight of her.

He recovered himself gamely however, and swept forward, bowing floridly and kissing Aunt Mim's hand.

"My lady."

Harry grudgingly admitted to himself that his godfather did formalwear well. His dinner jacket flattered a frame that had regained most of its mass. His hair was shiny and neatly combed, jaw clean shaven. He was once more the handsome man pre-war photos of him had shown.

Aunt Mim smiled graciously and eyed her escort with approval before turning to Harry.

"Time for us to make our dramatic entrance now?" She asked.

"Probably. We'd better intervene before Mary ruffles too many feathers."

Dorea frowned at that. "A wise decision. I could never work out what Felix saw in her."

"Well…" Sirius began suggestively before his remark was quelled by a glare.

"Might I escort my lady?" Harry said, offering an arm to his grandmother.

She took the proffered limb gracefully and the four of them processed through to the long gallery at the front of the building.

Harry exchanged a grin with his grandmother as they reached the top of the shallow flight of steps down into the room. He nodded to his chamberlain, a jolly little man Felix had introduced him to, who winked merrily at him, clearly enjoying the prospect of the disruption he was about to cause.

He waited for the string quartet to finish their rendition of a minor work of Bach's before bouncing forward and sweeping open the doors to the room itself.

He stepped to one side of the top step and, bowing low, indicated Harry and Dorea forward.

"His Lordship, Harry James Antares Potter-Black, Lord of the Most Noble House of Potter and of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Guardian of the South and the West. Princeps of the Citadel of Antheon, Citizen of Rome and Ruler of the Black Cliffs. Member of the Council of Twenty and Noble of the Realm."

He took a breath, twinkling at his shocked audience before continuing.

"Her Ladyship, Dorea Carina Potter, Dowager Lady Potter."

The pair of them smiled serenely as they stood for a moment, taking in the poorly-concealed looks of amazement, before descending the steps at a stately pace.

The chamberlain began again.

"The Honourable Sirius Orion Black, former Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Order of Merlin, First Class. Miriam Elizabeth Anastasia Evans."

Aunt Mim showed no sign of discomfort at the lack of title or other verbal adornment as she stood next to Sirius, her weight of diamonds flickering in the light of the chandeliers, and white dress leaving an almost indecent amount of tanned skin exposed.

They too paused for a moment before moving to join Harry and Dorea.

"Well, that went well." Sirius said cheerfully.

"Of course it did." Dorea told him calmly, before turning her head to smile at an approaching Felix as the quartet struck up again.

"A magnificent entrance, my lord." He said warmly before greeting Dorea.

"Indeed." His wife fluttered in agreement.

Harry noted Dorea eyeing a dress far too tight for an ample-chested woman of eighty with disapproval.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mary." He greeted her pleasantly before she noticed.

She smiled at him in an uncomfortably flirtatious manner.

"And to meet your lordship." She said with an alarming giggle. "Felix here has been hiding you away from me."

 _For which I will be eternally thankful._ Harry added internally.

"I'm sure we can forgive him for wanting to keep such a beautiful woman to himself." He said roguishly, earning himself a mock-slap that probably wasn't mock from Dorea and an impressed nod from Sirius.

"Ooo, charming as well as pretty." She said. "I think I'll keep you."

Even Felix was beginning to look slightly uncomfortable.

"A surprise for every day of the week, Lord Potter-Black." A cool voice noted.

Harry turned slightly, internally thanking the timely interruption.

"I aim to give satisfaction, Lord Malfoy." He said calmly.

Both of them ignored the salacious titter from Mary.

"It is an unexpected delight to see your ladyship alive and in good health." He told Dorea, smoothly enough that the blunt edge to his words passed almost unnoticed.

"You are also looking well, Lucius." Dorea replied, tone just on the safe side of frigid.

"He must moisturise." Sirius interjected cheekily.

"And Black. Already taking advantage of your new honour, I see." Lucius said, otherwise ignoring the comment.

Harry frowned at the implication.

"Lord Malfoy, how remiss of me, might I introduce my Aunt and, until recently, guardian? Aunt Mim, Lord Malfoy. Lord Malfoy, Miriam Evans."

Lord Malfoy frowned at Aunt Mim preceding him in the order of introduction, but didn't press the point when he realised he had misjudged the situation and stepped out of line first.

Harry thought he was likely the only one to see the irritated glint in his Aunt's eye as Lord Malfoy raised her hand to his lips as he done with Dorea.

They murmured a few pleasantries in an attempt to gloss over the slight situation before parting ways.

"Still a friend?" Sirius commented with an edge of smugness, once he himself had stopped angrily glaring after Lord Malfoy.

"Perhaps marginally less of one, now." Harry acknowledged before steering Dorea and himself through the throng of attentive onlookers and towards a smiling Lord Shafiq.

Like Malfoy, he was immaculately dressed in a fitted dinner jacket. Truth be told, Harry hadn't really expected any of The Twenty, apart from perhaps Augusta, to let themselves down on the sartorial front. He imagined them, after getting over their irritation at the Ministry's 'muggle' theme, sending emissaries to Savile Row to ensure they were suitably outfitted.

"Your ladyship," Darius began, somehow managing to ignore Harry with charm, "how I have pined for your presence all these years."

"Darius." She replied, giving in to a small smile. "Is it the tailoring or have you put on weight?"

He raised his hands in mock horror.

"I fear you have caught me, as ever. I cannot even blame my figure on the vagaries of age as I admire yours." He sallied.

Harry and Dorea both chuckled.

"Monopolising the host, Dad?"

"Ah, Liram. Come to see your new friend?" Darius said cheekily.

Liram grinned at Harry.

"I was actually going to help him escape from you. If her ladyship doesn't mind me borrowing her escort, of course?" He asked, dipping short bow to Dorea.

"Not at all. It's good to see you again Liram, I remember you as a baby. We saw you almost as often as we did dear Neville." She said fondly.

He smiled charmingly at her.

"And I can only regret that I do not remember those occasions. It is, however, good to have you back."

With that Harry and his new friend took their leave and began circulating, Harry introducing himself to the great and the good, mentally ticking off each invitee to make sure they'd all been greeted. The trays of champagne that had been circulating on heads of house elves since the arrival of the first guests were quickly joined by ones filled with the canapés Kreacher and his new team had spent days preparing.

Harry finally got to speak to almost every member of The Twenty, well those from houses who still had living members, or those not incarcerated in Azkaban. He and Liram were getting along brilliantly, even if Harry couldn't quite get over his new friend's stunning dark blue eyes, exquisitely moulded features and leanly muscled form, showed off to advantage by bespoke evening wear.

The assembly paused once more to stare as the following day's Quidditch teams were announced by the chamberlain, their names called with considerably more ceremony than Harry suspected the match's commentator would give them.

Minister Fudge, no doubt wanting to turn up fashionably late and make an entrance in solitary splendor, was unfortunate enough to arrive just as the audience was in the midst of politely applauding the teams. The man's boomed introduction was somewhat lost amongst the noise, and he was forced to stand and wait, fuming quietly, as Harry personally welcomed each member of both nations' teams.

"Viktor, it's good to see you again." He said eventually, not needing to feign delight as he embraced the duck-footed seeker.

The surly face broke into a broad grin as the surrounding people watched the enthusiastic greeting with confusion.

"Liram, meet Viktor, Viktor, Liram Shafiq, son and heir of Lord Shafiq."

"Pleased to meet you," Viktor said warmly, extending a hand to shake.

"Likewise." Liram replied, smiling as he raised a curious eyebrow at Harry.

"Viktor and I met in Bulgaria last summer." Harry explained. "I was tutored by his father for a while, and we went flying together."

"Harry is vary good flyer."

Liram raised an eyebrow at that.

"Viktor introduced me to flying." Harry said. "I wonder if I'll be able to join a Quidditch team at Hogwarts."

Liram smiled. "Well, I was made Ravenclaw seeker last year. If I can do it I'm sure pretty almost anyone can."

Harry grinned at him. "I'm not sure whether to be insulted by that, or call you on your false modesty."

"I'm not bad." Liram said, shrugging self-deprecatingly before changing the subject. "I don't know what positions are likely to be available on the Gryffindor team this year, although Oliver Wood, the Captain and Keeper, just left Hogwarts."

Harry quirked an amused eyebrow.

"Who says I'll be in Gryffindor?"

Krum looked confused by Liram's frown.

"You can't not be in Gryffindor." Liram stated, though with more than a faint note of question.

Harry shrugged. "Sirius was a Gryffindor, in spite of every Black since the founding of Hogwarts being a Slytherin."

"But he must be the only example of an heir to The Twenty being sorted outside of their family's house in centuries."

"Probably, but do you not think me sufficiently extraordinary to follow suit?"

Liram eyed him appraisingly. "From what I've been told or seen you could probably fit into any house. So unless you're secretly a massive coward then the hat is likely to put you in Gryffindor."

"Ve do not have zese houses at Durmstrang." Viktor told them. "Instead ve are divided by age and power."

"An excellent model for Karkaroff's little army." Harry said lightly to a once more frowning Viktor.

"I zink it is an vary good zystem personally." He said defensively.

"I'm sure it works well." Harry reassured him.

At this point their conversation was interrupted.

"Harry, my boy." Said a genial voice

Harry decided it probably wasn't worth the effort of asking Dumbledore to address him by his proper title, even as he forced back any visible signs of his amusement at the old man's costume.

Dumbledore's dinner jacket was shiny, pink, and sequined along the seams.

"Professor." Harry greeted warmly, even as his mask became more difficult to maintain as Liram snorted with laughter and Viktor eyed Dumbledore's clothes with something approaching concern.

"I must say this is an impressive little get-together you've managed to arrange."

"Thank you." Harry replied. "And has become even more so, thanks to your presence." He paused. "And that of Minister Fudge."

The little man had finally reached them.

"Lord Potter-Black, Dumbledore." He acknowledged the two most important members of the party with an irritated nod.

"Minister." Harry greeted him, shaking the man's hand. "You'll have met Liram Shafiq, of course, but might I introduce you to Viktor Krum? Bulgaria's seeker tomorrow." He explained when Fudge looked blank.

"A pleasure." Fudge muttered absentmindedly, before focusing for a moment. "Do you happen to speak English?"

"I do."

"Excellent. You can interpret for your Minister."

Krum was dragged off before he could protest.

"I hadn't known you were Lord Black, Harry?" Dumbledore asked with a faintly disapproving curiosity.

"My godfather appears to have considered the title something of a poisoned chalice." Harry said drily. "On the upside, the combined Houses do gain some considerable financial economies of scale." He noted, justifying it as some sort of business decision.

"You have an interest in enterprise?"

Harry shrugged. "A few vague plans. Nothing more than fantasy at the moment, I'm afraid."

"You could probably interest my father in some joint projects." Liram suggested. "He's wanted to strengthen trade links for years, but Felix and your Senate have limited authority to enact such changes, as I understand it."

"I'll make time to speak to him, then."

"Was there something you wanted to discuss, Professor?" Harry asked mildly.

"No, no, not at all, my boy. I must inform you, however, that the teachers at Hogwarts were extremely impressed by your answers in the assessments they sent you. I know that a number of them actually desire to speak to you with regard to some of your work."

"I'm flattered, and I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for that at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore nodded agreeably before moving off.

"He seemed as jolly as usual." Liram commented.

Harry smirked faintly.

"He's probably just happy to see Lord Malfoy and the Yaxleys dressed as muggles."

Liram returned his expression.

"To be fair, that makes me happy too."

Harry sighed. "You're easy to please. The problem for me is that, having been brought up largely in the muggle world, to me they look entirely sensible."

"And Dumbledore?"

Harry grinned.

"Utterly ridiculous."

"At least some things don't change."

* * *

The evening had gone off without a hitch. The French doors had been opened along the length of the room and people were still socialising on the terrace in the early hours of the morning. Aunt Mim had, for a muggle who would seem to have little save social class in common with the majority of the guests, been a remarkable success. She privately admitted to Harry that Sirius, although not himself overtly diplomatic, had been invaluable in smoothing over any awkwardness.

Harry finally made his way to bed just after four, having bid farewell to Liram and the last of the departing guests, and escorted Dorea to her own chambers.

* * *

Match day morning dawned bright and cool. Enjoying breakfast in the Orangery, Harry and his family looked out over the vast fields of tents and campfires.

"Did you ever play Quidditch, grandmother?"

"It wasn't considered ladylike." She smiled. "So naturally. Voted Hogwarts' most terrifying beater four years running ."

"That's why she was always my favourite Aunt." A grinning Sirius explained. "You know, she once broke three of Abraxas Malfoy's ribs and then told him to stop being such a girl when he refused to carry on playing."

"You did that to a teammate?" Harry asked with a sort of morbid amusement.

She shrugged delicately. "He wasn't trying hard enough. Anyway, we won the cup that year, and that's what matters. The nurse had him fixed up in less than an hour after the match." She paused. "And that included sorting out the punctured lung."

"You see now why no one objected when she decided to marry a Potter?"

Dorea sniffed. "Charlus was Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelor every year of the 1920s until I snapped him up."

Sirius grinned. "As the old dog never tired of reminding every woman he came across for the rest of his life."

Dorea smiled. "I found it amusing to dangle him in front of women who knew they could never have him."

"You're a very frightening woman, Dorea," Aunt Mim noted.

"As are you, my dear." She paused. "I've been told you're a lawyer?"

Aunt Mim raised an eyebrow. "I am"

Dorea frowned slightly. "Well, one does what one must to get by, I suppose."

Harry and Sirius burst out laughing.

Aunt Mim remained impassive. "Indeed, it has proved an amusing hobby."

Dorea nodded agreeably. "I quite understand the attraction, my dear. After all, I once considered a contract the Montrose Magpies offered me."

"But that seemed too much like gainful employment, Auntie?" A smirking Sirius asked.

"Not at all. They just refused to redesign their uniforms for me." She sniffed.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'd laugh if I didn't have a sneaking suspicion you were serious."

* * *

The stadium was vast.

"Space for a quarter of a million wizards, Pup." Sirius told Harry. "The entire population of magical London."

Harry nodded as they approached the entrance their tickets named.

The man who checked them gave the group an awestruck look and a deep bow.

"Straight to the top, my lord." He stammered out, handing the tickets back to Sirius.

"No concession to the elderly." Dorea noted sardonically as they began to climb the flights of thickly carpeted steps.

She made it to the top, however, climbing nearly two hundred feet with little noticeable change in breathing. Harry's offer to carry her was politely refused.

The Top Box formed a large bubble of glass, set about halfway up the stands and at the midpoint between the two sets of goalposts. Each member of The Twenty was entitled to a box of their own, but Harry and Sirius had decided they'd rather be at the centre of things. Minister Fudge, in spite of the deterioration of his nonexistent relationship with Harry, had been only too happy to procure The Boy Who Lived seats.

Four rows of a dozen or so comfortable looking chairs filled the box. Harry's party, being the first to arrive, save for a half a dozen Bulgarians standing muttering in the central aisle, filed into the right hand seats of the front row.

"Impressive," Harry murmured, surveying the oval of green below. The Top Box itself was on a level with the goalposts, allowing its occupants and the commentator the best possible view.

"I haven't been to a Quidditch match in decades." Dorea said thoughtfully.

"Then you're lucky we rescued you in time for this one." Harry told her cheerfully.

"Indeed."

"Ah, Lord Potter-Black. What a pleasure to see you here."

"Harry, please," Harry said, flashing the man a charming grin. It was, perhaps not an entirely appropriate offer, but he found himself unable to resist seeing how Lord Malfoy responded.

A momentary pause.

"Lucius."

Dorea was looking slightly disapproving, Harry noted out of the corner of his eye.

"A pleasure to meet you again, Lady Malfoy." He continued, stepping forwards to brush his lips softly against pale knuckles, eye contact just on the safe side of appropriate.

"And you, Lord Potter-Black. Might I introduce my son, Draco? I don't believe you've met yet."

Harry smiled charmingly. "Hi Draco, call me Harry."

The pale faced, haired and eyed boy frowned slightly, as though uncomfortable with someone needing to give him permission and being unable to reciprocate. He was well trained, however.

"Nice to meet you. It'll be good to have another noble in our year at Hogwarts."

"It would seem to be getting rather full of us" Harry noted wryly. He received a neutral smile in response before the Malfoys seated themselves just as the Ministers and their entourages came in.

After the round of greetings Harry settled back into his seat, absentmindedly taking in the enormous blackboard directly opposite them, with its invisible chalk currently scrawling an advertisement for Gladrags Wizardwear.

He was somewhat nonplussed, then, when the Top Box was invaded by a veritable army of redheads. Unlike the Malfoys, however, he didn't let it show. The family, for they could be nothing if not related, had won some kind of Ministry competition, he gathered. He frowned slightly as they settled themselves noisily in the seats behind them, unsure as to whether the irritation they were causing Fudge and the Malfoys was worth his own.

With five minutes to go until the six thirty start a stripy man bounded into the box. The man, six foot three of wasp-pattern spandex stretched over a muscular frame middle age had softened into lumpiness, seized Minister Fudge's hand with what Harry felt was entirely unwarranted enthusiasm.

"Minister, Minister!" He practically sang. "All ready to go?"

Fudge, finally disengaging from the grip, smiled comfortably.

"Just waiting on you, Ludo."

"No words for the crowd?" Ludo asked,

"I think I'll leave all of that in your capable care."

Ludo nodded happily before stepping up to the podium in the furthest forward point of the bubble.

" _Sonorus."_

As he cast the spell, the blackboard was wiped clean of its every flavoured beans and a score tally drawn on.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Ludo roared in greeting, beaming as the audience returned it a thousandfold.

"Welcome to Britain, and the four hundred and twenty second World Cup!"

More cheering.

"Is everyone ready?"

Cheering.

"Can I have a cheer from the Bulgaria supporters?"

He got one.

"And now Ireland!"

Slightly louder.

"Ludo, do you think we could get on?" Fudge asked with a little irritation.

The man turned towards him with an earnest-puppy look that would have been adorable had it not been entirely serious.

"But Minister, there's this thing muggles do called a Mexican wave…" He began piteously.

Lord Malfoy's glare at this had somewhat more of an effect than Fudge's.

"So, without further ado, let us welcome the teams!"

Fudge let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Playing for Bulgaria, please welcomeeee… Ivanova…" A scarlet blur swept up from the Bulgarian end. "Dimitrov… Levski… Volkov… Vulchanov… Zograf… aaaand… Krum!"

The applause got noticeably louder as Krum flew out to join his teammates. The Bulgarians hovered in a dead straight line at about the level of the top box as Ludo went on to introduce the Irish team.

"Troy… Mullet… Moran… Connolly… Quigley… Ryan… and Lynch!"

Even the commentator seemed unable to muster as much enthusiasm for the Irish seeker as he had for Krum. The crowd appeared to agree, as the level of cheering had conversely gone down in volume after the introduction of the Irish team's star chasers.

After their introduction, and the singing of the teams' respective national anthems, they dropped down to land on the pitch, lining up on either side of an Egyptian man dressed like a pharaoh.

Several members of the audience fell from the stands as the Bulgarian veela danced. The leprechauns' performance was less well received, but also had a lower casualty rate.

The teams, having been given their obligatory briefing whilst the audience was entertained by the national mascots, returned to starting positions.

The referee, apparently called Hassan Mustafa, tapped his wand on the lid of the chest that stood in front of him, which opened to release the game balls.

Before the Quaffle returned to earth after the momentum of its initial launch had dissipated, Mustafa had blown his whistle and the teams launched themselves upwards.

The Irish chasers, living up to their reputation, finished their first run in fourteen seconds flat, Moran carving her way past the Bulgarian Keeper to score.

She had scored twice more, and Troy once, before their opposition began to rally, Krum dropping out of his search to strengthen his team's line. That run, lasting a positively tortoise-like six and a half minutes, cost the Irish Quigley, the beater dropping out of the sky when a bludger crashed viciously into his shoulder with an impact Harry was thankful he couldn't hear.

The stadium's wards caught him a few feet from the ground, even as pale green robed mediwizards rushed out onto the pitch.

Quigley appeared to have been dispensable. The Bulgarians managed to log their first goal of the evening in the Irish team's momentary confusion, but the world's three greatest Chasers quickly regained their inexorable rhythm, apparently spurred on the by the loss of their teammate.

The next half hour saw ten more goals from the Irish, increasing desperation from the Bulgarian crowd, and the return of Quigley, to thunderous roars from the shamrock-swathed section of the stands.

He was sent off by the referee shortly afterwards, but not before wreaking terrible revenge on Volkov, who appeared to have had half of the bones in his right hand shattered in the beater's unexpected attack.

The Bulgarians put away one of the two penalties awarded.

When Mullet scored his fourth goal of the match the Bulgarian crowd let out a chorus of groans. One-eighty to twenty. Not even Krum could save them now.

He did his best, however, and after clipping Lynch out of the air in a maneuver sufficiently accidental looking for Mustafa to let it pass, caught the snitch moments before the Irish chasers scored.

Two-forty, one-seventy.

Harry ignored Fudge as he looked around for a possible interpreter, in no mood to pass on clumsy gloating to the Bulgarian Minister, who he knew spoke English, and who appeared to be taking his country's defeat gracefully.

He was, anyway, distracted by Sirius' whining.

"Sorry, godfather, but I really don't think there's any way you can argue this to be a win for you." Harry told him, grinning slightly.

Sirius looked desperately at an unsympathetic Dorea.

"Auntie, you can't mean to let your grandson gamble?"

She smiled sweetly at him.

"I really couldn't care less, as long as he wins."

"Which, Sirius, in case you remain in even the faintest doubt, he did," Aunt Mim added.

By the time this conversation was finished, and Harry had told Sirius he'd collect his winnings once all of the leprechaun gold had vanished, the teams had made it to the Top Box.

They filed past both Ministers, each team member shaking their hands. Krum looked surly until Harry grinned at him, an expression which was grudgingly returned.

Ludo, looking slightly disappointed the match was over, handed the enormous silver cup off to Fudge as the Top Box was lit up from within.

Fudge presented it to a rather battered looking Aiden Lynch, who raised it above his head in the standard appeal for adulation.


	12. Chapter 12

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-XII-

"Welcome, Harry!" Lord Shafiq exclaimed warmly, clasping his hand in both of his own.

They'd been invited to join the Shafiqs for a late supper after the match. They hadn't escaped the stadium until half nine, and now, gone ten, the Irish party was just getting started on the campsite below the bluff. The atmosphere amongst the great and the good was more staid, but the sounds of boisterous merriment nevertheless appeared to have affected all but the most stoic.

"Thank you, Darius. How kind of you to invite us to share your meal."

The man twinkled.

"I don't believe you've met my wife, Dalileh?"

"I haven't yet had that privilege. And, gazing upon your ladyship, it can be considered nothing else." Harry replied, hoping internally that his delivery was smooth enough to distract from what he considered a rather heavy-handed compliment.

Darius' wife was in two notable respects his opposite. She was tall and she was slim. He'd married back into the Persian wizarding nobility his family had come from when he took a wife, and Harry thought amusedly that she was probably beautiful enough to have been worth the searching for.

Her dark eyes sparked with faint laughter.

"I am delighted to meet your lordship," she said, with a softly exotic accent her husband and son lacked, extending an elegant hand for him to brush his lips against, ", when my husband has already told me so much about you."

Harry grinned.

"A beautiful woman who knows my weaknesses. I fear for myself." He thought that it was somewhat ironic that beautiful women weren't one of his weaknesses.

"You are our guest, there is nothing to fear here." She reassured him, before acknowledging the rest of his party with gracious words, and extending an arm for him to take.

"Did your ladyship watch the match?"

"Dalileh, please, and no. For me the Quidditch has done little save force me to delay my repast to a somewhat uncivilized hour."

"Harry. I sympathise with you, but cannot help but feel grateful that we have ended up dining together."

She chuckled throatily, delicate gold jewelry tinkling softly.

"I can see why you and Liram appear to be getting along well."

"Embarrassing me again, mother?" The subject of her comment asked as they entered the dining chamber.

The gold silk walls gleamed softly in the light of half a dozen chandeliers, and a large ebony dining table inlaid with mother of pearl groaned under the weight of silverware.

Liram was leant back against one of the dining chairs. He flashed a grin at Harry, before returning his attention to Dalileh.

"I understand that to be one of the primary duties of a mother."

He smiled.

"Then I thank Merlin for your being less than dutiful."

Harry grinned at his companion. "You become more exciting by the minute, Dalileh."

"I'm sure my son will be delighted to hear that."

Liram, smiling mischievously, turned mock-earnest eyes to Harry.

"Oh, no," He assured, apparently close to laughing, "I assure you, I have a very boring mother."

The rest of the group, having been guided back by Darius, watched the exchange with smiling indulgence.

"Right!" Exclaimed Lord Shafiq suddenly, clapping his hands together. "Let us sit and eat."

They took their places around the table, Lord Shafiq and his wife at either end. Harry sat to Darius' right, with Liram next to him.

A click of the beaming man's fingers and half a dozen house elves came into the room, staggering under the weight of the dishes they bore.

Lord and Lady Shafiq were the perfect hosts, explaining the Persian food to their guests and telling entertaining anecdotes. Everyone at the table was comfortable being charming.

"Liram was telling me you might be interested in renewing the historic trade links between our Houses." Darius commented once they'd finished the main course, steering the conversation towards seriousness as all but he, Harry and Liram were embroiled in their own discussions.

Harry paused to register his noticing of the change in tone.

"Indeed. Although I feel it is yet too early to deal in specifics, I am currently considering certain plans to rebuild the Potter family shipping interests. I had thought the logistical difficulties I understand you to be suffering presently transiting your goods overland from the Middle East would be somewhat alleviated by the reopening of the sea lanes."

Lord Shafiq's face, losing none of its customary good humour, sharpened with a suddenly businesslike expression.

"I will not deny certain encumbrances. You appear to be very well informed."

Harry shrugged dismissively.

"I do not think the news is yet widespread. Your goods are still reaching their market. It just occurred to me that at the moment our interests would seem to be mutually aligned."

"Perhaps. But surely, even your plans are somewhat ephemeral? You cannot possibly hope to build ships and reestablish trade routes in a space of time whereby any involvement on my part now would be of benefit to either of us."

Harry smiled.

"I do not think it will take so very long. All of the investment will be funded by me, personally. I would be surprised if I did not streamline sufficiently to have a fleet in the water by next summer."

Liram looked surprised, Darius interested.

"An encouraging timescale, although one I would still have to consider somewhat optimistic. I would not object to my goods being transported on your vessels." He paused. "Should a favourable rate for such a large contract be negotiable."

"Of course, my friend, and I am equally certain that in exchange for such favourable terms you would be only too willing to help me negotiate shipping monopolies with the authorities of Yajink and Hidal. I turn them into port cities, and in return they let me run the ports."

Even Darius was unable to hide his shock.

He gathered himself. "Before I allow my mind to boggle at the scope of your prospective project, you do realize that both of those cities are inland? Only Yajink is even connected to the sea, and its river is certainly not navigable by ships."

Harry grinned. "Then we had probably better conduct our negotiations when the rulers of those cities still consider their becoming ports an impossibility."

"At the risk of causing offense, Harry, it _is_ an impossibility."

Harry shrugged. "You deal with the city governors and I'll handle the impossibilities."

Lord Shafiq rolled his eyes good naturedly, apparently giving up.

"Very well, as a mark of our friendship, you will have your agreements."

"You have my thanks. Rest assured, in a few years time, you will have no regrets."

"That's what Darius told me when he proposed." Dalileh commented amusedly from her end of the table, apparently having caught the tail end of their conversation.

They smiled at her implied jab.

"Perhaps that was a mistake." Darius pretended to concede.

They laughed, and the conversation went back to lighthearted for the rest of the excellent meal.

* * *

They were just rising from their seats when a piercing scream rent the air and made them all freeze.

A few moments later a terrified looking house elf apparated into the room, before addressing Lord Shafiq.

"My lord," it, or rather, he, began squeakily, "there are bad people fighting outside."

Before anyone could make comment they were all thrown to the ground. The shockwave, outrunning its sonic boom by more than a second, had blown straight through the pavilion's wards.

The silk wall facing out towards the campsite, windowless, buckled inwards, supporting metalwork bending in place.

Harry, Sirius, Dalileh and Liram were the first to react. Harry reached into a pocket of his robes to draw out a handful of small black stones. The other three drew their wands.

Harry twitched a finger and the stones rose into the air. Before the rest of the party could do more than stagger to their feet and point their wands at the misshapen wall, another gesture sent the pieces of obsidian flying to press against any exposed skin on those present.

Harry held his own stone.

 _"Portus."_

The world whirled. The pavilion's already damaged anti-portkey ward was sheared away effortlessly.

Harry, Dalileh and Liram remained standing. The rest of the party landed on the cold marble tiles of the entrance hall.

Harry ignored his companions, considering them safe for the time being, and stepped outside to stand underneath the colonnade and look out over the campsite.

Several hundred of the tents nearest the bluff were ablaze, magical fire burning with an almost, but thankfully not quite, Fiendfyre-like intensity. Past the screams and shouts, which had by now become a constant and terrified background cacophony, Harry could pick out groups of darkly robed and masked wizards moving in the flames. The fire shifted away from them, leaving a clear ten foot radius of scorched earth around each party. From this distance he could make out little save for their wildly gesticulating wands, presumably moving the flames to ever greater heights of blasting frenzy.

Before he could do so much as contemplate a course of action or interfere, he was distracted. A couple of score wizards standing on the bluff a few hundred feet away, similarly attired to those terrorising the campsite below, had apparently noticed him.

He'd absentmindedly noted the figures, but allowed himself to be distracted by the far more obviously dangerous inferno.

The forty masked shapes, who had been standing before the ruins of Lord Shafiq's golden pavilion, started moving briskly towards him.

Harry felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

"We'd better get back inside." Liram told him.

Harry smiled at him and shrugged.

"I don't think it will make much of a difference, to be honest. The wards are far stronger than the building itself."

Even as he finished speaking the first of the masked figures, now only a few feet away from the edge of the wards, fired off a curse.

The blast of yellow light flew a couple of yards before stopping in its tracks and vanishing.

"Entrail-expelling, I believe." Harry noted coldly to a shocked looking Liram. By this point the rest of his companions had joined the pair of them.

"Is this a fight?" An unfortunately eager-looking Sirius asked.

Dalileh, now standing next to Liram, was eyeing the attacking force with the professionally assessing gaze of a trained war witch.

"I fear not one we can win." She said calmly.

"Eight, one a muggle, no offense dear Lady, against forty would seem tricky odds." Lord Shafiq noted in a tight voice.

Sirius appeared to have gone a little insane.

"They're only Voldie's old bitches." He said insistently. "Mad-Eye always used to consider one hit-wizard against ten of his novices fair odds."

Dalileh raised an eyebrow.

"You are the only hit-wizard here, Sirius, and an ex one at that." She paused before tilting her head in the direction of the attackers. "And I very much doubt those are novices."

The end of her statement was conveniently punctuated. The masked forms, having paused at the edge of the ward sphere for a consultation after seeing the entrail-expelling curse dispel, began their second attack with considerably more vigour.

As if to prove his status as someone who wasn't a novice, a slight figure stepped to the front of the group, extending a wand.

He moved its tip around for a moment, as if searching for something, before placing it delicately against the invisible protective shell.

"Skera! Ríða! Brjóta! Braka!" He exclaimed thunderously.

A crackling spider web of ice blue spread outwards from the point of contact. It expanded rapidly, outlining the whole of the ward dome in twisting, spitting strands of light.

A momentary pause.

"Sundr!" The man roared in a great voice, releasing his spell.

A massive tearing sound was heard for an instant before it, and all other noise, was snapped off.

The centre point of the now shimmering dome of light high above them blazed with a sudden brilliance, blasting the ground below with its fire. It dimmed slightly before moving out and downwards along the ward dome in a searing ring of radiance.

Less than a second later it reached the point where the cursebreaker's wand was still in contact. It gleamed with sudden unearthly glow at that point, drawing every last vestige of light from the dome before flashing out and down the man's wand.

The wand shone before disintegrating under the strain. Its wielder shone before disintegrating under the strain.

A moment more of utter silence as the light vanished. Eyes adjusted back to seeing by the light of the inferno down below and the illuminations of The Twenty's residences.

All that remained of the one attacker was a crumpled pile of gently smoking robes and a puddle of molten metal that had once been the poor man's mask.

* * *

The thirty-nine attackers began another consultation after that.

* * *

"What the fuck, Harry?" An awestruck Sirius asked what was rapidly becoming his favourite question.

"Are we not giving that poor man a minute's silence, then?" Harry questioned with a somewhat inappropriate levity.

"Not before we've asked about his death." A tense-looking Dalileh answered, gaze shifting between Harry and the still grouped and motionless attackers.

Harry shrugged.

"To be fair, it was more spectacular than I'd anticipated." He paused. "But then I suppose that's what you get when you try to use Old Norse curse-sundering against a lightning ward."

"A lightning ward?" Remus inquired in the lightly curious academic voice he used whenever Harry did something particularly unusual. He found it helped to reduce stress, and lessened the necessity of forced Occlumency.

"Something I devised, but would rather not go into the details of for security reasons."

He glanced around for a distraction.

"Oh, look, they're about to try again."

* * *

The masked and presumed-to-be-death-eaters had finished conferencing.

They started out by all casting the entrail-expelling curse they knew, from experience, to be non-fatal to the caster. Thirty-odd (apparently a few couldn't cast it) flashes of yellow light winked momentarily into existence before flashing back out of it.

The cowardly ones kept with that, whilst the more adventurous branched out. Some other spells of questionable darkness seemed to have much prettier effects; they spattered and hissed and clattered against the ward sphere in little bursts and fans of multicoloured light.

They did not get through.

"I wonder how long until the aurors get here?" Harry asked his companions quietly. "I know the Minister has left, but as I understood it there was a significant DMLE presence?"

Darius nodded. "Eight hundred enforcers and two hundred aurors. All the ministry claimed it could spare."

"I can't see that there are more than a couple of hundred death eaters, all told." Delilah commented. "And even than would seem to stretch the logistics of secrecy."

"One does have to wonder about their motivations." Liram noted casually, doing an excellent impression of relaxed, even if he wasn't.

"Mmm. Odds on the ministry apprehending anyone and finding anything out?" Harry asked.

Lord Shafiq tilted his head in apparently thoughtful contemplation. "Fifty-fifty on getting someone in to question. I don't think I could offer odds on them getting anything out of that person."

Harry nodded his agreement.

* * *

The attackers appeared to be wearing down. The barrage of blinding spells had become a trickle of dim ones. The wards showed no visible sign of weakening.

A few minutes later the assault was called off. Its participants began apparating away. The blaze in the campsite at last seemed to be under some measure of control as they saw groups of enforcers arriving at last.

There was soon only a single figure left at the edge of the ward sphere.

 _"Morsmordre!"_ The man shouted in a hoarse voice.

Even as the enormous, vivid green, serpent-swallowing skull expanded against the sky, Harry raised his wand from where it was held loosely at his side.

A jerking twitch and the robed figure was dragged into the ward sphere. Another gesture and he was bound tightly in steel cables, wand snapping out of his hand and into Harry's.

A sudden spark of intuition told Harry not to let his companions too near to the bound figure now strugglingly rolling about on the grass. He frowned, murmuring softly, as the figure vanished suddenly.

"Probably an emergency portkey." He suggested mildly. "I felt that ward tear slightly; it wouldn't normally have worked, but the attack clearly drained a considerable amount of power."

* * *

Naturally enough, law enforcement arrived shortly after that.

They buzzed around the half-collapsed golden pavilion for a few minutes, before their scans revealed a distinct absence of bodies.

After that it was the singed robes, no longer smoking, which drew their attention. They didn't find a body in those, either. By this point Harry had moved his party back indoors to the orangery, where they could sit on comfortable furniture and watch the world gradually stop burning.

"Lord Potter-Black! I am Auror Captain Rufus Scrimgeour, might I be permitted past your wards?" The boomed question disturbed their quiet conversation and musings.

Sighing internally, and not bothering to match the man's ridiculously overpowered _Sonorus,_ Harry adjusted the ward sphere's harmonics to permit his access, and that of half a dozen of his team; the number he thought this Scrimgeour would feel safe to advance on an unknown and unsecured location with.

"Tippy." He called softly. One of the new elves popped into existence next to his chair, head lowered, but at least not doing the ridiculous bowing he was working hard to get rid of. "Would you go and invite our guests to join us?"

"Yes, my lord." The elf replied politely.

A minute later the squad of hard-bitten aurors in full scarlet battle robes marched into the elegant room. The main indication of disturbance was the faint orange glow of the still-burning fires outside coming through the French doors and being reflected off the mirrored walls. The green radiance of the still hovering skull might also have indicated something amiss.

They found a group of people, still dressed for a semi-formal dinner, lounging indolently on spindly furniture and all looking utterly composed.

Harry rose to greet the Captain, who looked like a grizzled lion, receiving his bow with a polite inclination of the head.

"Captain, won't you and your men sit?" He asked politely, gesturing them towards seats.

The man probably didn't want to, but was equally afraid of causing offence, and he and his men occupied the proffered furniture.

"I take it there are no injuries?" He asked gruffly.

"I think not. Under the circumstances, the Dark Mark would seem to be somewhat unjustified." Lord Shafiq addressed then man coolly. "One is inclined to inquire as to the reason it took such an inordinate amount of time for the aurors to arrive?"

Scrimgeour flushed dully, both at the dressing down and the fact that he hadn't recognised or acknowledged Darius immediately.

"My lord." He began stolidly. "The majority of the auror units on duty were called away to a reported explosion in Lord Crouch's territory. It took some time to investigate and then reform the units to come back down here."

"And the enforcers?" Lord Shafiq snapped. "All eight hundred?"

The man frowned. "Asleep on the far side of the campsite, I suspect most of them. The rest, probably dead."

"It seems the Death Eaters had the organisation your men so clearly lack, Captain." He stopped for a moment before continuing in a marginally softer tone. "Are you in charge of operations here?"

The man nodded.

"Until Director Bones arrives; she elected not to stay at the campsite as I understand it."

"And Shacklebolt's still on holiday, I suppose?"

The man nodded.

Lord Shafiq waved a hand irritably. "Then you and your men are dismissed, Captain."

Scrimgeour looked for a moment as though he wanted to argue; apparently not having anticipated the interview happening this way round, but eventually stood.

"Well, now that we know we're all safe under the capable care of Captain Scrimgeour, why don't we go to bed?" Harry suggested lightly.

* * *

"DOZENS DEAD!" Exclaimed the Prophet's headline that afternoon, suspended above an enormous photo of the Dark Mark. It had taken the Ministry nearly ten hours to find someone with sufficient expertise to take it down.

By the time Harry and his companions had risen, the campsite had been largely abandoned. The smoking wrecks of a thousand burned tents sat in puddles of the filthy water that had been diverted from a nearby river to put out the blaze. Ministry search teams could be seen combing through the wreckage in search of bodies. There were a lot, most disfigured beyond recognition. The Prophet headline was, if anything, conservative.

They were soon ensconced back in Grimmauld place, somewhat relieved to be away from the stench of char and burnt flesh the wards hadn't quite managed to filter out.

Sirius came back that evening announcing that he'd rejoined the aurors, whatever he thought of Kingsley's leadership.

* * *

"And these, gentlemen, are my plans."

Harry stood in the centre of Antheon's Senate House. Sunshine blazed through the high windows and oculus, gleaming off the white togas of those assembled.

 _That architect's spells are proving remarkably useful._ Harry thought as Antheon's ruling body leaned forward in their seats interestedly.

He stood in the centre of the circle of marble that formed the speaker's floor, facing a semicircle of tiered marble stands filled by his senate. It was the first formal meeting of the body to be convened since his father's death. As such, there were gaps in ranks that should have numbered two hundred.

"I've divided the project into three main stages." He told them.

"The first stage will involve a vast expansion of the city docks. Two piers will become five." As he spoke, the illusory model of Antheon sprawled around him altered to match his words. "Three dry docks will be built near the southern edge of the harbour. Ten acres of land will be brought up in the area from the sea." A moment later what had once been gently lapping blue water, an effect Harry was particularly proud of, had become a large expanse of crisp stonework.

"That space will house customs offices and additional warehousing. The timescale for this first part is six months."

The enjoyment was rather running out of shocking his audiences. Before anyone could voice an opinion, he continued.

"Stage two will encompass the rebuilding of the merchant fleet lost in the last war, albiet on a much larger scale. I intend to have eighty ships in the water within the year and a further hundred and fifty in another."

"The third stage will ideally occur concurrently with the second, although the second takes priority. The city will be expanded by in the region of ten thousand homes, the ward scheme and stones entirely replaced, and a new shopping district with bars, nightclubs, hotels, a theatre and an opera house, built."

He elected not to tell them about the fourth stage he was toying with the idea of, which hadn't even been put to paper yet.

He smiled round.

"Are there any questions?"

There were.

"Princeps, is the scope of your project not a little ambitious?"

"Yes."

"Is the project fully costed, and do you have any revenue projections?"

"Yes, but I'd rather not release those for the time being."

"Start date?"

"The architects and surveyors start work tomorrow. I anticipate the plans being finalised within a fortnight and construction starting shortly after."

The questions from the audience, now apparently convinced this wasn't some random flight of fancy, now came thick and fast. They demonstrated, however, what Harry thought was an impressive amount of knowledge about business. Although, perhaps that shouldn't be such a surprise when most of their families had been wealthy and entrenched for centuries.

* * *

Big red steam train. Little noisy children. Now obligatory six-foot radius established by uniformed footmen as defence against the pressing crowds.

Platform nine and three-quarters was, all in all, much as expected.

Liram and his parents managed to pass the circle of guards to greet Harry and his family with smiles.

Remus had flooed to Hogwarts a couple of days ahead to establish his rooms, so Harry was accompanied only by his Aunt, Grandmother, and Sirius, now looking suitably resplendent in his auror captain robes.

"Now, Pup," his godfather began with mock-severity, "I expect you get into lots of trouble as soon as possible."

Harry nodded along. "Of course, after all, every generation should be an improvement upon the last."

"Not in the respects Sirius was known for." Dorea interjected drily.

"Oops." Harry paused. "How is interference going with Augusta?"

Dorea frowned at him slightly. "I suspect you have wounded her more than superficially. She will not be easy to bring round."

"I have every faith in your ability, Granny." He shrugged. "If it doesn't work then I can just focus on Neville. It's only three years until he inherits."

Lord Shafiq raised an eyebrow. "Building a power base already, Harry? You wouldn't be anticipating a war, by any chance?"

Harry studied his expression. "They do happen."

Liram attempted to soften the sudden change in tone. "I'm not sure even the prospect of a war is worth spending time with Neville."

"I fear he would indeed become a source of much frustration." Harry acknowledged. "Anyway, we'd better get on." He drew and flicked his wand to levitate his neatly stacked cases.

Liram sighed. "I wish the Ministry would emancipate me. At this rate I won't be able to use magic on Ministry territory until I'm seventeen."

Darius chuckled. "You're allowed to on our lands."

"And mine, of course," Harry added, before raising Liram's trunks as well as his own.

Liram flashed him a grin.

"Well, off with the pair of you, then," Dorea said impatiently, "the elderly aren't meant to stand on cold station platforms all day."

Harry eyed her floor-length coat, heavy with sable fur and warming charms, pointedly.

"Be grateful you're not coming with us to Scotland, then."

She winked at him good naturedly. "Someone has to stay and keep an eye on my nephew." She told him.

"And run London's social circle of old biddies."

That remark got him a reproving slap on the shoulder.

"We'd better go now." Harry told Liram, indicating his grandmother.

Liram embraced his parents. Harry hugged Sirius and Aunt Mim.

"We'll see you at Yule." Liram told the assembled adults.

Darius twinkled mischievously.

"I suspect I could recoup some of my lost galleons if I persuaded you to make a bet on that."

Liram looked in quizzically at Harry, who raised an eyebrow to indicate his own lack of comprehension.

Sirius nodded his understanding.

"Shame we probably can't get them to."

"You can't." Harry told him. "Now, will you tell us about this mysterious fate that'll keep us apart?"

"Nope." Sirius said cheerfully. "I think that's one thing Dumbledore can have up his sleeve to surprise you with. Rumour at the ministry has it that he'll be making the announcement at the welcoming feast."

"Fine." Liram told them cheerfully. "We'll see you sometime then, when we've got over being abandoned and kept locked up in a castle."

Sirius and Darius nodded along, whilst the women, who had presumably been told more than Liram and Harry, smiled slightly.

They got on the train and found a free compartment. Their combined luggage filled the racks that should have held eight students' worth.

The whistle blew at a minute before the hour, and on eleven the Hogwarts' Express chugged its way slowly out of the station. A couple of Liram's friends found the pair a few minutes after the train's departure, and Harry was introduced to Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil. He was handsome and she pretty. They both came from old and well respected lines, and chatted away happily enough, even if they couldn't quite keep up with Harry and Liram.

* * *

Harry was almost grateful when the compartment door slamming open distracted Padma from the half-lidded gaze she had been focusing on him for the previous half hour.

"They're saying Harry Potter's on the train." The gangly redhead standing in the middle of the entrance stated. "That would be you, would it?" He asked Harry.

He shrugged. "Who can say? Identities can be forged, of course, and sometimes in this country I wonder whether I have become but a fable of Dumbledore's twisted imagination."

The redhead, who he was beginning to recognise as one of the noisy ones from the World Cup, looked confused for a moment, before turning to Neville Longbottom, who was standing, fidgeting nervously, to his left.

"Neville, this him?"

Neville nodded shyly. "Hi, Harry."

Harry flashed him a smile that made Padma release a sigh so obvious Anthony frowned at her.

"Hey, Neville, do I want to know who your friend is?" He asked, gesturing his head dismissively towards the gangly boy.

"Ron. Ron Weasley." The subject of their discussion said importantly. "I've come to invite you to join us Gryffindors in our compartment."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's very forward of you, Mr Weasley. I find it difficult to imagine you being more charming than my present company, anyway."

Weasley looked around pugnaciously. "I'm much better than pretty boy Ravenclaws."

Harry smirked. "You find Padma and me ugly, then?" He questioned archly.

A dull flush was his answer.

"I don't believe we've been introduced." Harry, having already moved on from Weasley, ignored him to address the boy to his right.

The boy looked nervously at the redhead for a second before speaking.

"Seamus Finnigan." He said shortly.

Harry, now having mentally dismissed all three of the boys standing just outside the compartment, raised an inquiring eyebrow at Liram, who smiled before turning to address them.

"You guys wanna fuck off now?" He asked casually.

The Weasley boy sputtered for a moment, flushing to fade his freckles and match his hair.

Harry was vaguely concerned, internally, that this dismissal was going to offend Neville, but an objective mindset had already told him both that he couldn't handle someone like Neville being a regular hanger-on, and that if he ever needed him in future, he would be easy enough to charm.

The Weasley boy looked at Harry one last time, as if waiting for him to rise and join him. A few seconds of Ron staring, and Harry ignoring, and the redhead left the compartment with a disgruntled humph and a disappointingly quiet slam of the sliding door.

"Well," Harry began cheerfully. "Cards, anyone?"

Padma responded eagerly.

"Exploding snap?"

Harry smirked faintly. "I was thinking strip poker."

Padma looked confused, whilst Liram raised an eyebrow.

"What's that?" Anthony asked.

"It's a card game where you're either good, or you take your clothes off to make up for not being."

Liram snorted with laughter. Anthony was looking nervous. Padma seemed to be a mixture of apprehensive and aroused.

"But maybe that's taking things a bit too far." Harry conceded. "How about we play without the stripping?"

Anthony looked relieved, Padma disappointed, and Liram still amused.

"Teach us, oh great leader." He said.

Harry drew his basilisk wand and gestured it casually to conjure a baize-topped card table, before flicking it to summon a couple of packs of playing cards and set of chips from his luggage.

He spent the next few hours happily teaching his companions how to play. They picked up the unfamiliar game quickly, even if Padma was easily bluffed and distracted.

Half-an-hour from Hogsmeade, with the express chugging merrily over one of Scotland's many muggle viaducts, Liram reminded them they needed to change into their school robes.

Padma changed first, before being dismissed, blushing, from the compartment. Harry felt slightly guilty changing with Liram and Anthony without notifying them of his sexuality, but he wanted to be slightly more settled before coming out to the wider public, and he couldn't deny there wasn't an ulterior motive in wanting to see the other two in nothing but underwear.

Anthony turned out to be skinny in an attractively bookish sort of way. Liram was fucking stunning.

Harry had known that, of course, but there was something about all that smooth and lithely rippling muscle beneath flawless tanned skin that made his mouth go dry. He was thankful his own frame attracted enough attention to cover up his staring.

"I want the name of your gym." Liram joked, as he eyed him with what Harry suddenly desperately hoped was more than straight-boy admiration.

"You'll have to work out with me." Harry suggested lightly as he pulled on a pair of trousers.

"If Padma had seen you like that she'd be panting." Liram joked, grinning internally as he saw Anthony frowning from the corner of his eye.

 _She already was,_ Harry thought to himself.


	13. Chapter 13

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-XIII-

Hogsmeade turned out to be a fairly small settlement, a few hundred houses clustered around a quaint high street and single-platform station.

Liram dragged Harry after him to one of the thestral drawn carriages. Harry was only too thankful to escape the giant man guiding leading the throng of first years towards a flotilla of small boats.

With space expansion charms and without luggage, each of the carriages was able to seat about twenty. The four of them from the compartment on the train gathered at the back of theirs, dim lighting and subtly applied notice-me-not charms helping to prevent anyone from noticing Harry.

Hogwarts Castle was undeniably impressive, Harry acknowledged as the carriage clattered along the path that ran beside the lake. Admittedly it wasn't quite Antheon's Citadel; it was smaller, and its grey towers, although tall, were too bulky to have that same soaring grace. It was, however, a dramatic silhouette against the starlit sky, surrounded by low mountains and with hundreds of warmly lit windows.

Not having been officially briefed, but assuming he'd be sorted along with the incoming first years, Harry waited with Liram off to one side of the entrance hall as the older students crowded past. Eventually, a tall, thin and severe looking woman, dark hair streaked with grey and tightly pinned back, swept past.

"That's McGonagall." Liram told him. "Head of Transfiguration. She'll be off to escort the first years up from the boathouse."

"Thanks." Harry replied. "I'd better go say hi."

"Fine. Hope to see you in Ravenclaw."

They exchanged a quick grin before separating.

"Evening, Professor."

McGonagall didn't slow her pace as she glanced sideways at him.

"Evening, Lord Potter-Black." She acknowledged in a surprisingly warm tone.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." He continued pleasantly. "I understand you taught my parents?"

She nodded as they continued on down a flight of well-lit steps and along a corridor.

"I did. Lily and James were both excellent students, although I feel James never quite achieved his potential. Judging by your answers to the assessment I was asked to send to you, you have more than inherited their talents."

"Thank you, Professor. I can only hope my practical work is equally satisfactory."

She smiled at him briefly as they came to a halt before a pair of heavy oak doors.

Before Harry could come up with something to break the few seconds silence the door was knocked.

McGonagall twitched the wand that had dropped from her sleeve and the doors swung open with a creak that a simple charm could have sorted, but apparently hadn't so as to add to the dramatic effect.

"The new firs' years, Professor McGonagall." The enormous man said respectfully, size only emphasized by the hundred or so tiny figures huddled behind him.

"Thank you, Hagrid." Came the crisp reply.

Hagrid appeared to spot Harry at that point, eyes widening with recognition after a moment, before his mouth also spread into a broad grin. Harry suspected that it was only McGonagall's presence the prevented him from being bear hugged.

As it was, Hagrid stomped past them and off towards the room where the welcoming feast was presumably being held.

"Follow me."

McGonagall led the throng back to towards the entrance hall, and into an antechamber.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." She greeted the incoming students finally, the faintest hint of a smile blossoming on an otherwise immovable countenance.

"This will, Merlin willing, be your school for the next seven years of your lives. I warn you now, Hogwarts does not tolerate laziness. We are one of the world's preeminent magical institutions, and I fully intend that our reputation be kept."

She paused for a moment, eyeing the largely pale-faced students severely.

"Work hard. Learn well. There is nothing a Hogwarts graduate cannot, and has not achieved." She finished, on a slightly more positive note.

Harry was amused to see a few of the new first years nodding firmly to themselves, as though internally resolving to do as the Professor had demanded.

"I will take you through to the Great Hall in a few moments, whereupon you will be sorted into the houses you will call your own for the duration of your stay here. All have long and illustrious histories, and all have produced outstanding witches and wizards."

"I will leave Mr Potter-Black here to keep an eye on you." She finished peremptorily, before leaving.

Harry, who had attracted a fair few glances already, suddenly found every eye focused intently on him.

"Hi guys." He said. "To be honest, you can do what you want. I have no idea why McGonagall trusted me to keep an eye on you. I'm being sorted too, by the way," he added helpfully.

A few nervous smiles answered him, and before long they were talking quietly amongst themselves. None quite gathered the courage to speak to him.

Ten minutes later McGonagall returned.

Another "Follow me," and they eleven year olds traipsed behind as Harry fell into step with the professor.

An enormous hall filled with candlelight greeted them. The body of the room housed about eighty round tables, each surrounded by a dozen chairs, most occupied. A long table stood on its dais and stretched along the far end of the room, backing onto an enormous set of stained glass windows emblazoned with the Hogwarts coat of arms.

The round tables were separated into four sections, two aisles dividing them and crossing in the centre. McGonagall led her group through the middle of the hall and up onto the dais at the front.

An old, battered, pointed wizard's hat in brown leather sat slumped on a three legged stool.

"The sorting of the new students will now begin." Professor McGonagall started. She then decided she'd better explain something.

"For the first time in nearly fifty years, Hogwarts will be welcoming a student into the school after their first year. Mr Potter-Black will be joining the fourth years and I'm quite sure you will all offer him a warm welcome."

Harry had cast the strongest notice-me-not charm he thought he could get away with on himself before walking in. That hadn't been enough apparently, seeing as even before McGonagall's announcement half of the hall had been staring at him. Now, letting the charm drop, the rest followed suit.

"Mr Potter-Black." McGonagall continued. "Please come forward. We will sort you first."

* * *

He stepped towards the stool, and paused, letting his basilisk wand fall into his hand. A brief twitch and the stool became an elegant straight-backed chair in mahogany. He hadn't really done the wordless transfiguration to show off, although the murmurs of appreciation from behind him were flattering, but rather to avoid looking ridiculous crouched over a stool designed for people more than a foot shorter than he was.

He lifted the hat, sat down, crossed his legs, and put it on. His first thought before being distracted was that it was unlikely to fit any of the students to follow him, and didn't seem to have any automatic resizing charms. As it was, he could watch his audience stare curiously.

"I've never been placed at a rakish angle before." A dry voice told him.

"Enjoy it whilst it lasts." Harry advised the hat. "I doubt anyone to follow has a big enough head to manage it."

"Indeed not." The voice replied, sounding faintly amused. "Speaking of which do you mind letting me into yours?"

Harry shrugged mentally, internally burying his delight that even a thousand year old hat found itself unable to get past its barriers.

"There you go. Although surely all this is just a formality."

The hat didn't speak for a moment.

"This is hardly your entire mind, Mr Potter-Black."

Harry wondered whether he could raise an eyebrow mentally. The hat's snort indicated that his attempt had been successful.

"It's enough evidence, isn't it? Well, at least enough to satisfy the criteria you're programmed with?"

The hat sighed.

"I suppose so." It said almost grumpily. "Well, then, Mr Potter-Black, might I be the first to welcome you to…"

"No." Harry interrupted.

This time the hat raised an eyebrow, which was impressive when it didn't actually have one on any plane of existence.

"I'm sorry?"

"Why don't we rock the boat a little?"

"Rock the boat?" The hat asked, either curious or simply confused by an unknown expression.

"Yes. You did it with Sirius, after all."

The hat snorted.

"That boy at eleven was the most Gryffindorish child I've ever sat on the head of."

"I'm sure he'll be flattered to hear that. Although, that statement does bring into question the efficacy of the privacy charms you supposedly bear?"

"I'm a thousand year old hat. I do what I want." The hat said breezily.

Harry seized his opportunity.

"Exactly. So, how about this?" He asked, letting another stream of information out from behind his barriers to be released into the pool of stuff the hat had already sorted through.

This time the silence was longer.

"Brave." The hat said eventually.

"If you suggest fucking Gryffindor one more time I'll give you red and gold tassels." Harry threatened with a fake snarl.

The hat chuckled slightly, before asking, slightly nervously.

"Am I allowed to do this?"

"I don't see why not." Harry reasoned. "Break that glass ceiling, rebrand yourself as a full-bore shaper of destinies."

"Hmm." The hat sounded interested. "These tassels?"

Harry laughed, only realizing he'd done it aloud when the expressions of his audience in the room flickered slightly in surprise. He could see McGonagall standing off to one side, looking confused, probably upset at having her tightly planned schedule ruined by the quarter of an hour he'd now been sitting under the hat.

"I can do you something much better than that." Harry reassured, returning to his conversation. "I reckon that together we can even stop Dumbledore being able to change you back. Although… if I did this…" he continued, thrusting a mental image forwards, "then he might just wear you all the time himself."

The hat literally purred its approval.

"I like it."

"We have a deal then?"

A momentary pause.

"Well, I was getting bored." The hat sighed. "Stop by for a chat whenever you like, I get lonely sometimes…" It finished miserably.

"Of course I will," Harry assured it. "But I think we'd better draw this one to a close before McGonagall pitches a fit."

"You're probably right. At her age blood pressure can be so fragile." The hat snickered, before drawing itself together.

"Here we go…"

Harry grinned brightly at the room, watching most of the girls and a few of the boys nearest him blush.

"BLACKLEPRICKLE!"

* * *

Absolute silence met the hat's sudden announcement.

Confusion deepened into bewilderment.

Harry stood, still smiling. He thanked the sorting hat, before removing it and placing it down on the vacated chair.

Drawing his wand again he gestured towards the hat, muttering a few words unintelligible to McGonagall next to him, and picturing his intent.

He released the magic slowly, and after a second felt the hat reach out and grasp at it eagerly. A few more minor gestures and the enchantment was inextricably bound to the hat's own magic.

His smile widened as it altered in front of him, shape amorphous as it shifted and brightened, settling eventually. If a hat could look smug, he thought, this one did.

Having finished that, he looked up towards a faintly frowning Dumbledore, all silver beard and blingy throne and mustard yellow robes.

"Evening, Headmaster. A fifth house, I believe. What an interesting happenstance." He said lightly.

Not waiting for a reply, he turned back round, and walked briskly past the blankly staring faces to the centre of the hall, at the intersection of the two aisles.

A flick of his wand conjured a table and a dozen chairs like the one the sorting hat now sat on. The furniture would last until the school could make more permanent arrangements, he reasoned.

Harry took the seat facing the head table and waited impassively.

McGonagall seemed somewhat at a loss. Eventually Dumbledore rose, spreading his arms in papal benediction. His gesture also revealed that the sleeves of his robes dropped down in enormous wing shapes, so that in the brilliantly illuminated hall he ended up looking something like a gospel singer crossed with the sun.

"A fifth house." He declared with aching solemnity, and sat, nodding imperiously to a still flustered McGonagall.

"Abrahams, Sebastian."

The summoned child, brown hair, boring face, came forward slowly.

McGonagall chivvied him towards the chair and hat.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Harry could almost feel McGonagall's sigh of relief as her world righted itself and some semblance of normality returned.

The hat, as if in apology, swept through the gathered children with startling efficiency, reaching a rate of ten students a minute in its decisiveness.

The other eleven conjured chairs proved unnecessary. Harry wasn't particularly surprised, or even disappointed. Nevertheless, he decided he probably needed to go a recruitment drive.

He searched the Ravenclaw section of tables until his eyes met Liram's.

He quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head in the direction of the seat next to him.

Liram, probably marginally more laid back than the rest of the school, smirked slightly before rising and coming over to join him.

"Never a dull moment." He declared cheerfully, sitting down.

"I do my best."

Dumbledore rose again at this point. Silence fell disappointingly slowly.

"Welcome back!" The beaming old man exclaimed. "A fresh year, and already some fresh excitements." He looked directly at an unaffected Harry as he said that. "I believe I have some more to share with all of you, but I will let your excitement build, I think, as we all gorge ourselves on the earth's bounty."

Food arrived as he sat down, in what even Harry had to admit was a smoothly timed piece of magic. Unfortunately, the house elves seemed unaware of the addition of an extra table, so Liram and Harry sat facing two sets of conjured cutlery and crystal, but no food.

Liram solved this dilemma quickly enough, drawing his own wand to wordlessly summon half a dozen dishes from the surrounding tables, before conjuring a pair of porcelain plates.

"You have excellent taste." Harry complimented him, helping himself to rare roast beef and horseradish mashed potatoes.

Liram shrugged.

"I do my best," he said, grinningly parodying Harry's words.

They sat and chatted happily for a few minutes before they were joined by a girl.

The blonde seated herself neatly on Harry's other side.

"Good evening, Lord Potter-Black." She said smoothly.

"Good evening, Miss Greengrass." He replied, lifting pale fingers to his lips even as he stared into ice blue eyes. "You are, if possible, even more beautiful than your mother."

Her lips quirked in faint amusement, but no trace of a blush stained those marble cheeks.

"Thank you. Might I sit and eat with you?"

"Of course."

A lazy wave of his wand and a third place setting was laid, another and the dishes that had been nearest to Daphne at her own table, presumably what the Hogwarts elves had learned to be her favourites, were summoned.

Her smile expressed gratitude, but no weakness, as she helped herself to food and began to eat daintily.

Harry and Liram were both too well trained to show any indication of surprise at the appearance of the girl, although Harry by now knew his friend well enough to detect it in the faint set of his face.

Conversation was made quickly, however.

"Loyal, brave, clever, cunning, and?" Liram questioned suddenly.

Harry guessed at the substance of the question, but still raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"House traits." Daphne said shortly, also eyeing him with curiosity.

Liram nodded. "However inaccurate in reality, they exist in theory. Does… Blackleprickle have one?"

He named the house uncertainly, as though not quite sure he'd caught what the hat had shouted.

Harry smirked faintly.

"Attractiveness."

Liram looked momentarily nonplussed, Daphne raised a pale brow.

"I'm sorry?" She enquired after elucidation.

"Nothing more, little less." Harry said. "I didn't really want to find a proper trait when all the obvious ones are already gone. I wasn't going to have the house of 'patience' or something, although I did toy momentarily with both 'curiosity' and 'insanity'. But no, eventually, I decided to go with something almost completely arbitrary and create a house whose entry requirements are entirely predicated on physical appearance."

His two companions looked faintly shocked in spite of themselves.

"That's why, of course, you two were shoe-ins." He said.

"I'm sorry?" This time it was Liram asking.

"You're both members of Blackleprickle now." Harry told them. "You're sat at the table and everything, besides, we probably need a few more members if we're going to have any chance at the house cup this year." He frowned slightly. "Quidditch is going to be slightly tricky with just the three of us, too."

Liram shrugged.

"Well, why not, it might be fun."

Daphne looked perhaps a little more uncomfortable, but was smooth enough to realise she was committed, at least for the moment, and let it slide

"And Blackleprickle?" Liram asked next.

"Its not really too difficult to work out, but I'd prefer to tell you later, nevertheless."

Liram nodded noncommittally.

They sat eating quietly for a few more minutes.

"And the sorting hat?" Daphne inquired delicately.

Harry shrugged.

"The price it charged for its complicity. I admit, not everyone can pull off the Carmen Miranda look, but at least it now actually fits an eleven year old."

Liram raised an amused eyebrow.

"I assume also that, with the hat's own support, Dumbledore would find it difficult to return it to its original appearance."

Harry smirked.

"Almost impossible. And, of course, all of the influential conservatives with no sense of humour are going to be convinced he's left it that way deliberately, for his own amusement."

"Which he might well have done anyway." Daphne said with a faint hint of condescension.

They were interrupted once more by the rising headmaster.

"My students." He began, raising his arms once more to show off his plumage.

"It is my sad duty to announce that this year there will be no inter-House Quidditch Tournament." He deadpanned.

Harry and Liram frowned. A few less composed Gryffindors shouted something unintelligibly Gryffindorish.

"Before I am, how do the muggles put it?"

"Lynched?" Suggested Harry loudly enough to make those on the surrounding tables giggle.

"Exactly." Agreed a beaming headmaster.

"Before I am, as Mr Potter-Black suggests, lynched. I must offer at your feet an alternative. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my proud duty to announce that this year Hogwarts will play host to the return of the Triwizard Tournament!"

For a man who had probably been expecting rapturous applause, he worked quite well with the confounded mutters he got.

"The Triwizard Tournament." He continued serenely. "It was originally founded some eight centuries ago and was a competition between the then three preeminent schools of magic in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. It gradually expanded to encompass a few other institutions, and constituted a series of three dangerous and challenging tasks undertaken by the champion who represented each."

He paused.

"I feel it my duty to inform you that the tournament was cancelled some hundred and fifty years ago, when it was considered too unsafe following an unusually large number of fatalities."

His expression became solemn and calming as if in response to the suddenly anxious whispering.

"Rest assured, however, that the Ministry has worked immensely hard on the safety and security of the returning tournament. No champion should find themselves in mortal danger."

"Reassuring." Daphne commented sardonically.

"Now," Dumbledore continued brightly, "onto the particulars."

"Due to the nature of the tournament, its difficulty, and the dedication and commitment required of those taking part, it has been decided that entry is to be restricted solely to those of age, seventeen, or sixteen with a parent or guardian's permission."

It was difficult to tell whether the muttering that sprung up at this was angry or reassured.

"I am delighted to announce the participation of some twelve schools in this year's tournament, the largest number there has ever been. Additionally, each school will be permitted two champions, in an attempt to negate the influence of Lady Luck on each school's chances."

"Or to make sure at least a few make it through to the final round." Liram suggested cynically.

"And to make the whole thing even more viciously competitive for the entertainment of the general public." Daphne said.

"Research the tournament." Dumbledore continued. "Consider fully committing yourself to such a course. Do not make the decision lightly, for there is no turning back and the path ahead is dangerous." He smiled suddenly. "On a lighter note, I have every faith in my students and would like nothing better than to see Hogwarts win. The preeminent institutions of the modern magical world are competing, and we stand at their pinnacle. Goodnight."

He seated himself.

The murmuring of the students grew rapidly into the full-blown hubbub of excited conversation as they rose and began exiting the hall.

"Mr Potter-Black."

Harry turned his head to face McGonagall.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Arrangements for your accommodation." She said crisply.

Harry frowned faintly.

"I'm sure there must be some free space for a new house somewhere." He said with a faint note of question.

"The south tower is empty." Liram suggested quickly.

"The south tower is uninhabitable, Mr Shafiq." McGonagall continued. "Besides, I hardly think it appropriate for a student to reside on their own so isolated from the rest of their compatriots."

Harry smiled reassuringly. "You needn't worry Professor; Liram and Daphne have both joined me in Blackleprickle. Besides, if this tower is structurally sound then I'm quite sure we can make it entirely habitable."

McGonagall frowned, turning towards his companions. "What are Professors Flitwick and Snape going to think of this?" She asked in a voice inches away from irate.

Liram answered.

"We are, of course, grateful for the support we have received from our heads of house these last three years, but have decided that we would rather transfer to Blackleprickle." He said diplomatically.

Daphne was frowning faintly, but had apparently decided to go along with things for now.

Harry had decided that McGonagall was sufficiently inflexible that they could well be standing there all night debating with her. He was just getting ready to press matters when a light puffing became audible.

"Professor." Harry grinned as he greeted the new arrival.

"Harry, m'boy." The chubby man said jovially, smiling broadly.

"Horace, might I ask what you are doing?" Questioned a confused a McGonagall.

"Of course, m'dear." The man agreed, settling himself comfortably on a nearby chair. Harry watched amusedly as the sage green smoking jacket stretched itself magically over the man's seated bulk.

"Professor Slughorn has kindly agreed to become head of Blackleprickle house." Harry told McGonagall cheerfully.

She looked as though she'd been slapped.

"And precisely when was this arrangement reached?"

"Oh, a couple of weeks ago." Harry said breezily.

"Indeed." Professor Slughorn agreed, nodding, now apparently quite recovered from his walk down from the head table. "You may leave my students with me, Minerva. I will see that they are suitably accommodated. We can discuss timetables in the morning." He finished with a faintly dismissive note.

She stood there for a minute longer, before her own uncertainty forced her to leave them.

"Liram has suggested the south tower become Blackleprickle's accommodations." Harry told the professor, who thought for a moment before grinning again.

"Excellent idea, Mr Shafiq! Potions is clearly not your only strength. There are also, as I recall, some rather nice chambers nearby that might make an excellent space for my humble self." He said happily. "If one of you could just give me a hand up, then we shall go at once!" He declared.

Harry and Liram both grasped an arm, pulling the Professor's bulk to his feet.

"I must say," Slughorn began as they started walking, "I'm delighted to see both you, Miss Greengrass, and you, Mr Shafiq, in Blackleprickle." He chuckled merrily.

"Thank you, Professor." Daphne said politely.

Harry thought privately that she was probably reassured to have an entirely respectable ex-Slytherin as her new head of house.

"I was honoured, of course," Slughorn told the three of them confidingly, "when Harry wrote to me last month, raising the possibility of fifth house. I must say, I didn't quite believe at the time, m'boy. First Head of the only new House since the founders' days." He commented with immense satisfaction.

"Here we are." He said at last, as they reached a set of large iron doors at the end of the corridor.

They opened easily enough, and they found themselves standing on a short bridge over the lake. The walkway was completely enclosed by stonework and windows, but even on such a mild night it was draughty. Another, identical, set of doors stood at the far end. Slughorn had to summon a key to open these.

"Borrowed these from Filch." He said. "Don't think they've been used since Dumbledore was a boy." He chuckled as he let them in.

The room beyond was circular and perhaps fifty feet in diameter, vaulted ceiling arching high overhead.

It was also entirely bare, and slightly damp. The bareness stood to reason since it had been abandoned for more than a century, the dampness because of both that and the fact that it rose straight up from the Black lake.

"This is excellent." Harry declared to his frowning companions.

"It's going to need some work m'boy." Slughorn told him.

"The craftsmen will be in tomorrow." Harry assured him. "But for tonight…" He drew his basilisk wand to send drying charms scouring around the window frames and stonework, followed by some warming charms, a dozen conjured torches, sets of curtains and three comfortable beds.

Slughorn looked delighted. "All your mother's talent and more," he declared happily.

Daphne and Liram looked reassured, particularly when a number of house elves began appearing next to each bed with their luggage.

"I'll bid you goodnight, then." Slughorn said.

"Goodnight, Professor," they chorused as the fat figure waddled out into the corridor.

* * *

They all went to bed fairly quickly after he'd left, Daphne conjuring a curtain around hers for modesty.

* * *

Harry woke early.

It was Friday morning. Classes didn't officially start until Monday, so students could settle in and timetables could be sorted, although those in the higher years would no doubt be consulting with teachers already.

By the time Liram and Daphne had risen, cast freshening charms and clothed themselves, he was sat with an architect, the pair of them poring over a set of floor plans spread out over a large table between them.

The tower was fifteen stories high, each level a single circular room of the same diameter. A smaller semicircular tower clung to the outside and held a broad helix of steps.

"I reckon we can have a floor each." Harry told Daphne and Liram once they'd been introduced to the architect and sat.

The two nodded.

"So if we decorate the common room and take the top three floors for ourselves then there are still another eleven to accommodate anyone who joins the house."

"We're going to get accusations of favouritism." Daphne said in a voice of faint concern.

Liram shrugged.

"Who gives a fuck? When they hear how much space we've got they'll all want to join anyway, so most won't want to offend us." His expression hardened. "No, Harry, explain this Blackleprickle stuff to us."

Harry had decided that if he was going to be friends with Daphne he'd better be honest, bearing in mind both that her father was a member of The Twenty and that she herself was formidably intelligent.

"I'm Lord Black. I needed something to placate the old families sworn to me. I needed to demonstrate to them that I'm not a light-wizard Lord Potter above all else. Godric Gryffindor, as you'll know, was a scion of a bastard line descended from the Potters. The Potter's heraldic emblem is a Griffin, Godric was given permission to incorporate that into his house's name, and use a lion as its mascot. It was a wise decision on the part of my ancestor; the Potters' house traditionally educates the children of four houses of The Twenty, which has helped bind their loyalty, and brought us prestige."

Liram and Daphne were both nodding, albeit with faint frowns.

"And by forming a new house with Black associations you're seen to be attempting something similar?" Liram asked.

Harry nodded.

Daphne raised an eyebrow.

"And my presence, and Liram's, both as heirs to members of The Twenty, become indicative of your success?"

Harry remained impassive, but was internally glad that he hadn't underestimated Daphne.

"Exactly."

Liram grinned at him suddenly.

"So you strengthen your authority over the pushy Black old bloods, and we get massive new accommodations?"

"That's about the size of it."

Liram shrugged. "I'll have to write to my father, of course, but I suspect he'll be fine with it. He's normally laid back, and just wants me to be happy."

Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow at Daphne, who looked back at him with sparkling amusement.

"I must assume," she began, "from your apparent intelligence, that you have deduced the major reason for my presence here?"

"Of course, but it wouldn't be polite to discuss it without your permission."

She smiled faintly. "I take it by your frankness that this gentlemen here…" she said, inclining her head towards the curiously watching architect, "is sworn to you?"

"He is."

"Then deduce."

"You're here because your father wants you here." Harry said coolly.

She inclined her head. "The major reason, I acknowledge, but easy enough. Anything further?"

Harry grinned. "So much more. Your father will have briefed you to get close to me, as the most influential and politically powerful student currently at Hogwarts. He's noted for his decisiveness. The other dark families will be thinking about how to approach me, encouraged by my power and being Lord Black, but held back by the light associations of The-Boy-Who-Lived and the Potters. Your father positions you early, pulling off a brilliant political coup if he gains my support."

Another nod. "Exactly as it was explained to me."

Harry grinned. "And then you come in. You're happy to be the perfect Slytherin, the trained ice princess, but all the same looking for opportunities to push a bit away, demonstrate your own brilliance."

She looked slightly shocked, before smiling again.

"Continue."

"Your father would probably have wanted you to back off last night, before you were dragged into another house and a confusing situation. You decided to run with it. New house, new opportunities. Liram's here, I'm here. Lots of blood and power. Slytherin has plenty of nobles, heirs to The Twenty and otherwise, but all in a firmly established hierarchy. The Malfoy heir is probably, nominally at least, in charge, but is hardly an inspiring leader.

You're trapped behind a queue of misogynists and narrow-minded supremacists in Slytherin. Sure, you'll make an excellent marriage; you're likely to be a member of The Twenty yourself one day so you can take your pick of any of them. But your husband's house might take precedence; if it didn't the marriage wouldn't be nearly as spectacular as you'd want. Here, however, you're less trapped. Your decisions can be more objective, it may be easier to escape or delay an arranged marriage. You can build your own power in a new house, full of opportunities and free of associations."

She was surprised, but hid it well.

"Very impressive."

Harry grinned.

"And, of course, you'll explain all of this in your next letter to your father. If you want, you can even explain how much I deduced. He'll be impressed by me, and by you. You can sway him to your side easily enough, and, with luck, any vague thoughts of having a son to supersede you in the order of inheritance will be finally banished. Something which, I suspect, has been a major goal for quite a while."

She shrugged. "Of course it has." She eyed him piercingly. "You realize, of course, that he's quite likely to want us to marry."

"Almost certainly. But then, I don't have a guardian, so I can delay and lie and give you as much time as you'd ever need to make your own decisions."

She smiled whilst her eyes narrowed, a peculiar expression.

"And of course, for that favour I become indebted to you."

Harry shook his head. "You've supported me and shown faith by joining Blackleprickle. Let's call it even."

Her expression in response held genuine warmth.

"Thank you."


	14. Chapter 14

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-XIV-

The dumbstruck architect was drawn quickly back into conversation. The house elves were happy to serve them both breakfast and lunch in their new common room.

Slughorn joined them for lunch, waddling into the room dressed in emerald green potions master's robes.

Sat around a conjured table and helping themselves, they watched as Slughorn plied an appraising eye over the mock ups.

"Timescale?"

Harry grinned at him.

"All done by Monday."

Slughorn nodded approvingly.

"I won't insult you by doubting, m'boy." He said jovially. "And, of course, I want the three of you nicely settled in by the time classes begin."

He reached into one of the voluminous pockets of his robe to draw out a few leaves of parchment. A flick of his wand sent them flying, one coming to lie in front of each of his students.

"Your timetables." He said. "I had yours done first. All of your classes should be with the best teachers who tutor fourth years."

They smiled at him; the man might have vices, but he knew his business as a head of house.

"I'll be running my usual supper club again this year." He continued. "Miss Greengrass, Mr Shafiq, you are both, of course, invited as usual. Harry, I expect to see you there too." He said, waggling a chubby finger with mock severity.

"I wouldn't miss it." Harry assured him.

"A fortnight tomorrow then then." He declared, before frowning slightly. "I don't think I can be moved into my new quarters in less time than that, but never mind. Anyhow, I'm sure we can consider inviting some of the attendees to join our house." He finished cheerfully.

Harry grinned internally. Slughorn was, as he had suspected, clearly having a whale of a time. He'd been Head of Potions for nearly fifty years, but had supposedly coveted the idea of running Slytherin House for even longer. The opportunity to run a brand new house of hand-picked members was plainly a deeply exciting prospect to him. A Slug-Club that was far more than a monthly supper and a few boxes of candied pineapple.

"An excellent idea, Professor. I'm honoured to see that you'll be taking our potions classes." Liram commented.

"Wouldn't trust it to anyone else." Slughorn said. "Dumbledore doesn't let me teach anyone under fourth year."

"I'm sure your talents would be wasted on such young students." Daphne said smoothly, both complimenting Slughorn and clearly demonstrating her loyalties shifting away from Professor Snape, who took most of the younger Slytherin classes.

Slughorn beamed at her. "You flatter me. I fear you are mistaken, however, as Severus has nothing but good to say of your abilities in his classes."

* * *

The builders and designers arrived after lunch, so Harry vanished the conjured furniture. They levitated their luggage up to one of the floors that would remain unused for the time being.

"How about going flying?" Liram suggested, reasoning that they'd want to keep out of the way of the workmen.

Harry and Daphne agreed.

Twenty minutes later they were changed and walking through the castle in the direction of the Quidditch pitches.

"I fear we're looking slightly elitist." Daphne said with a mock-snobbishness that made her companions laugh.

Harry eyed the three clutched Firebolts, and three sets of top-of-the-line Quidditch uniforms and pads, before silently agreeing with her.

"Were you on your house team, Daphne?" He asked casually.

"Reserve Slytherin chaser last year. I might have made it onto the team this year, but with Flint still going for brawn over brains I suspect it was unlikely."

"It's not like it actually matters, anyway," Liram sympathised, "what with the Quidditch Cup cancelled."

"I suppose not."

Harry grinned at her. "Well, I don't think there's much competition for a spot on the Blackleprickle team at this point."

She smiled back.

"I suppose you're right."

They reached one of the practice fields, currently unoccupied, and did a few stretches before kicking off from the ground.

For Harry, riding his Firebolt for the first time was an almost euphoric experience. Using one of Viktor's brooms in Bulgaria had been amazing, but the Firebolt was in a different fucking league. The ground just fell away, only to come back into focus seconds later, much smaller.

A laughing Liram and grinning Daphne caught up with him a few seconds later.

"How about a seeker competition?" Liram asked.

"Sure." Daphne agreed. "Who wants to get the key to one of the ball chests from Hooch?"

Harry drew his wand. "No need."

A few seconds muttering and a snitch appeared, held between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, wings fluttering madly.

"No fucking way." Liram said.

Harry grinned.

"All moving parts. Fully tournament programmed. Conjured from nothing." He frowned slightly. "It will probably only last about three hours, though, I didn't really focus enough for longer than that."

"You realise it would probably take McGonagall and Flitwick five minutes working together to come up with something like that?" Daphne asked him.

Harry grinned cheekily. "Then maybe they should try harder."

With that he put his wand away, dropped the snitch into his right hand and threw it away from him with all the force he could muster.

"On five."

They counted up together before all diving off in different directions.

Three hours later they landed together on the edge of the pitch. Behind the ice mask Daphne looked exhausted. Liram was a little sweaty.

"Another few rounds, anyone?" A grinning Harry asked.

"Maybe another day." Liram said diplomatically. "I've had enough ego-crushing defeats for one afternoon."

"What was the final tally?" Daphne asked.

"You, two, me, seven, Harry, thirteen." Liram told her.

"It can't have been." A still exhilarated Harry tried to protest.

"It was. You demolished us."

"There's always tomorrow. I think I'd prefer to play chaser, anyway."

Daphne smirked at Liram. "You might get to keep that seeker spot next year, after all."

He rolled his eyes at her.

"We'll have to use the changing-room showers." He noted, leading them off in that direction.

Harry nodded.

"I think the idea is to have the plumbing finished by tomorrow evening, but I doubt the bathrooms will be properly done until lunchtime on Sunday."

"How did you manage to persuade me to live on a building site?" Daphne asked with somewhat ludicrous primness, when she was soaked with sweat and had mud up to her knees.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Do they have individual hot tubs in the Slytherin dorms?"

"Fair point." She acknowledged grudgingly.

* * *

Harry was both disappointed and relieved to find that the showers were individual stalls rather than communal. The three of them called their own family house elves to bring them soaps and changes of clothes, getting them to return the brooms to their luggage and take their Quidditch gear away to be washed.

They changed and went straight through to the Great Hall for dinner.

The three of them sitting in solitary splendour in the centre of the hall drew marginally less attention than it had the previous night, although the whispers were still rampant.

They were approached, before any of the teachers had arrived, by a boy Harry recognised as the Malfoy heir from the World Cup.

He was flanked by a couple of boulder-like boys, of a bulk that no self-respecting pureblood supremacist mother would have let her children reach.

The blond's eyes flickered over Harry and Liram before settling on Daphne.

"Greengrass." He began coolly.

"Malfoy." Came the ice-smiled response.

"Why are you sitting here?"

"Oh," she said breezily, "I've transferred houses."

The pale grey eyes narrowed.

"You've left Slytherin?"

"I have."

"This does rather to bring into question the possibility of the marriage contract our fathers have been discussing." Malfoy said coldly.

She smiled brilliantly at him.

"Excellent. If your father steps back then mine doesn't have to strain too hard for a diplomatic excuse to break off negotiations."

He flushed faintly and actually glared at her.

"Anyway," she continued. "I think it somewhat gauche to discuss such matters in public."

The flush deepened further. Malfoy looked about to speak, before taking in Liram and Harry's coolly impassive eyes and expressions.

He went away, too stiff-legged for an entirely dignified exit.

Harry looked at Daphne with a smile.

"You're committed to us now, you realise?"

"Of course." She responded calmly as the first teachers began to trickle into the hall.

They returned to Blackleprickle Tower after dinner to find a staggering amount of progress. The common room, requiring no plumbing or painting, was nearly complete.

The tall, arched windows were now flanked by heavy cream curtains. A large, previously nonexistent fireplace stood opposite the entrance, surrounded by comfortable furniture. A thick carpet covered the floor. Empty bookshelves of rich mahogany filled the walls in the gaps between the windows. Further groups of settees and armchairs stood in the centre of the room, and smaller study desks were dotted around the edge.

"They've been efficient." Daphne commented with an arched eyebrow.

"They've just finished doing some work for me in London." Harry told her. "So they were available at short notice."

She nodded agreeably.

"I wonder how far they've got with my rooms."

* * *

"Welcome to OWLs."

Nobody seemed to find Professor McGonagall's words as terrifying as she'd probably wanted them to be. But then, this was a class of Ravenclaws to which the three Blackleprickle students had been added. That it was half eight on a Monday morning meant also that her students' sleepiness was working against her.

"I am delighted to see that you have all brought your textbooks. I can only hope to be suitably impressed by your all having done the requested reading."

Harry raised a hand.

"Yes, Mr Potter-Black?"

"Professor, can I ask why this is the required text?"

"I fail to understand the question."

"As I understand it, very little of the current Transfiguration OWL is covered by the book."

Her natural frown deepened.

"Rest assured, Mr Potter-Black, you will have been taught all of the required material by the time your exams roll round."

He attempted what he hoped was a reassuring but non-patronising smile.

"Under your tutelage that was never one of my concerns, Professor. I merely wished to express certain doubts that the set text is even remotely suited to helping us."

"The Headmaster authored the text, Mr Potter-Black." McGonagall stated with icy conviction, as though this apparent oversight on his part would cure his confusion.

"We all have our weak moments." Harry noted blandly. "The problem I have that only one of the eighteen chapters bears any relevance to the material we are due to cover, and that that chapter is itself verbose to the point of being unreadable."

McGonagall flushed slightly.

"I'm sure the Headmaster will take your criticisms on board, Mr Potter-Black, in the meantime I will attempt to reassure you with the knowledge that I have never had a student fail and do not intent to start now."

Harry decided to act suitably quelled; McGonagall could be a valuable ally, and he could already see half of his classmates eyeing their own custard-coloured textbooks frowningly.

The Professor began what turned out to be a surprisingly interesting lecture on the intricacies of turning hamsters into frogs. The goal was, apparently, to have a class sufficiently adept that by the end of the first half-term they would be attempting the transfiguration on living examples, with the goal to keep them that way throughout.

Harry hoped that the fact the textbook was referred to not at all for the entirety of the two hours was telling his fellow students something.

* * *

Professor Flitwick released an actual squeak when he read Harry's name off his register. Even this source of merriment, however, was topped when he summoned the prescribed cushion with nothing more than a short hand gesture. Flitwick's stack of books, which an amused Liram assured him became more teetering by the year, collapsed dramatically under the weight of the excitedly shifting Professor.

"Well done, Mr Potter-Black!" Flitwick exclaimed, apparently none the worse for wear as he rose from the debris. A deft flick of his own wand had the scattered volumes gathered and neatly restacked on his chair, a seemingly innocuous charm that belied the incredible difficulty of wordlessly moving several objects relative to one another with such precise control and no eye contact.

The end of the lesson had Liram and Daphne summoning their own cushions with wand, but no incantation, and most of the class, again Ravenclaws, also managing the charm, if less comfortably.

* * *

Lunch was excellent, Muggle Studies farcical.

"This is a plug." An excited but otherwise ordinary man declared. "The source of most muggle power."

Harry snorted with laughter. The fourteen conscientiously scribbling purebloods around him aimed a few confused looks his way.

"Mr Potter-Black?" Professor Stokes asked. "Is there a problem?"

"None at all, Professor, I apologise for disrupting your lesson."

He was rewarded with a faintly suspicious look, and subsequently ignored. He managed to conceal his amusement, barely, for the remainder of the lesson.

He was back with his housemates for Arithmancy later that afternoon, although this time they were in a class with the Slytherins. Harry spent too much of the lesson trying to analyse Liram's reactions to the undeniably attractive Professor Vector to pay much attention to the actual contents of her lecture. Luckily, the work itself was easy enough without the explanation. He both laughed and cringed internally when most of his male classmates glared at him for receiving the only smile of the lesson from the teacher.

The girls frowned at Professor Vector instead.

* * *

Professor Slughorn was indisposed, apparently, and so Harry's first Potions class of the year was being taken by a Professor Snape, who, incredibly, appeared not to like him, for some reason.

"Ah, Mr Potter-Black, our new celebrity." The bat-like man said silkily, reaching his name on the register.

Harry couldn't resist.

"Ah, Professor Snape." He returned insouciantly. "My new fan. I'm flattered, of course, but if you want me to sign your breasts can it wait until after the lesson?"

The whole class was silent for one incredulous moment.

Liram, sitting next to him, was the first to respond, dropping his face into his arms on the desk in front of him to conceal his laugh.

Snape wasn't far behind, although his response was to sweep forward, points of furious colour burning on his sallow cheeks.

"Insolent boy." He snapped, spitting slightly in his temper. "Two weeks of detention and thirty points from Blackleprickle."

Harry winked at him. "That sounds like an excellent cover story for our time alone, well played, Professor."

Snape practically hissed in fury, but was apparently sufficiently put of his stride by the fact that the entire class, primarily Slytherins, was laughing at him, to turn around and return to the front of the rooms, robes billowing.

"Page eighteen." He rapped out, stabbing his wand at the blackboard to fill it with neat columns of writing and a number of diagrams.

The class was quelled and the sound of turning pages took the place of the snickers.

Harry was surprised when Snape refrained from any further comment for the duration for the lesson, merely sneering viciously when presented with a flawless Wit-Sharpening Potion.

* * *

The second Saturday after term began saw thirty-something students gathered around a large circular table in a recovered Professor Slughorn's splendidly comfortable new chambers.

"Welcome!" The Professor beamed pudgily in greeting.

Nine heirs to The Twenty, fourteen to the general nobility, and six to the vastly wealthy nodded back at him. The three students his Head of House had deemed sufficiently brilliant to attend on their own merits alone, however, were those of most interest to Harry.

Well, they would normally have been.

Harry had the place of honour, seated directly to Professor Slughorn's right, next to Daphne, with Liram beside her. To the Professor's left, however, was what had distracted him from the trio of uninfluential geniuses grouped a few seats further round.

The boy was probably sixteen, perhaps seventeen.

He was also perfect.

* * *

Golden hair and skin. Crisply moulded nose and mouth. Jutting cheekbones and sculptured eyebrows. Clear grey eyes.

It didn't exactly help that he kept glancing back at Harry.

* * *

The boy had arrived a few minutes late, dropping into the seat beside Slughorn with a muttered apology just before the man rose to greet them.

Before Harry found a suitable opportunity to ask Daphne about his identity, however, Slughorn remembered his duties as host.

"Harry m'boy." He boomed, chair creaking ominously as his bulk turned.

Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow as the golden-haired youth and the female sitting next to him, whom Harry found himself wanting to strangle, also turned in his direction.

"Might I introduce you to the most promising student Hogwarts has had in a generation?" He paused. "Excepting yourself, of course, and perhaps Miss Greengrass and Mr Shafiq." He returned to the topic at hand. "Lord Potter-Black, Cedric Diggory, Son and Heir to Lord Diggory."

The two of them each flashed a grin at the other in response to Slughorn's expectant look. The eye-contact held for what was perhaps an inappropriate length of time, but, absentmindedly taking in teeth as brilliantly flawless as the rest of the boy, Harry couldn't really bring himself to care.

* * *

"I met your father, I believe." He noted, grasping for the first topic of conversation to present itself to him.

A faint suggestion of startlement, followed by a grimace so subtle it might have been a flicker of candlelight, was the immediate response.

"He mentioned it. I believe he was planning to introduce us, but was distracted by something or other."

Harry said the first flippant thing that came into his head.

"I find it difficult to believe he could have been distracted from me." He noted lightheartedly.

Luckily Daphne backed him up, even as Harry watched the Diggory heir swallow mesmerically.

"We're going to have to work on your modesty."

Harry, again acting on instinct, flashed her a roguish grin.

"If that entails spending more time with your ladyship, then how could I refuse?"

The Diggory heir's eyes narrowed in faint consternation, something Harry's subconscious seized on like he was drowning.

Slughorn's booming laughter followed his statement.

"Smooth, m'boy." He got out eventually, patting Harry's shoulder complacently.

"Cedric, you'll be entering the tournament?" He asked, shifting his attention.

The subject of his question dragged his eyes away from Harry to smile wryly at the Professor.

"The parental permission slip from my father arrived the morning after the welcoming feast. Truth be told, I hadn't made up my mind, and certainly hadn't contacted him."

Slughorn chuckled.

"That's the Amos I remember. Impulsive to a fault."

"Are you to be involved in arrangements for the tournament in any way, Professor?" Diggory inquired, smoothly steering the conversation away from his father.

"Not to my knowledge." Slughorn replied cheerfully. "Albus told me all about it, of course, but most of the arrangements are being handled by our own Department of International Magical Cooperation, alongside their counterparts in the Ministries of those countries with schools taking part."

"To try and stop cheating?" The Chinese girl next to Diggory, who was certainly nothing more than mildly pretty, asked.

Slughorn roared with laughter.

"Nothing will prevent cheating, my dear Miss Chang. Whilst I have every faith in the honourable nature of our own Ministry, I fear those in Asia and Eastern Europe will think of little more than winning."

"You mean their governments will help their champions cheat?" She practically gasped.

Slughorn nodded sombrely, before smiling.

"I have trust in our Hogwarts champions, whomever they may be, to overcome all of these obstacles, however." He looked around the table. "I believe that a number of you will be entering yourselves for consideration?" He asked, raising his voice slightly.

Perhaps ten heads nodded, a few going so far as to murmur their agreement.

"How are the champions selected, Professor?" One heavyset dark-haired boy asked.

"Now, now, Amarau," Slughorn said, waggling a playful finger in his direction, "you know I can't tell you that." He leant back in his chair, which squeaked faintly in protest. "Incidentally, many of the customs of a competition as old as this tournament would likely be very well established, and might even have been recorded somewhere. Perhaps an oblique line of research would yield the best results, a general history of one of the longstanding competing schools, even."

He grinned round at his now rapt audience.

"But really, surely you knew not to ask?" He questioned playfully.

The Professor proved to be an excellent host, and clearly enjoyed his time holding court.

* * *

The weeks rolled past quickly, half term a brief reprieve in what was otherwise a comparatively intense educational process. Harry had no trouble, of course, but he did wonder how on earth people like Crabbe and Goyle, as Malfoy's henchmen turned out to be called, along with those like Weasley, managed to keep pace. Even taking 'soft' subject options, and the minimum number of OWLs, would seem to be stretching their intellectual capabilities and apparent work ethic a touch too far.

Lessons began at half past eight every weekday morning. Two sessions of two hours each were taught before lunch, followed by another two after lunch. The day, with two half hour breaks and a full hour for lunch, finished at half six. Harry attended classes, but spent most of his time outside of them around Liram and Daphne. None of them felt any need to go to the extra-curricular support sessions available, and which those of their classmates who were falling behind were forced to attend.

* * *

All students were given the afternoon of classes off on the Monday after half term to welcome the arriving schools.

Dumbledore had, in his imagination, dressed for the occasion. His robes gleamed in the dull winter sunshine, silk emblazoned with a hundred Hogwarts crests. Snakes slithered up and down his sleeves, embroidered lions roared from his shoulders, eagles flapped around his torso, and badgers gamboled merrily on his lower half.

The heads of house were all looking horrified.

Their contemplation of the Headmaster's attire was, however, cut off as the first carriages became visible wending their way up the path from Hogsmeade.

Harry, standing, as ever, with his two friends, thought the thestrals drawing them looked out of place in the middle of the day. It was impressive that Hagrid was friendly enough with the herd to get them out of the forest at that time, though.

The first carriages drew up in front of the steps the students were gathered around.

An efficient-looking middle-aged man with greying hair stepped out first. He was smartly dressed in navy blue robes, and followed by a dozen students similarly attired, but wearing casual clothing under their own outer robes.

"Hogwarts. Please welcome Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" Dumbledore announced cheerfully, as he stepped forward to clasp the middle aged man's hand.

Hogwarts clapped politely in greeting as the group was guided off to their prepared accommodations.

The next half hour saw another seven institutions arrive: Castelobruxo from Brazil, Mahoutokoro from Japan, who sent only two gold-robed students alongside a teacher who could rival Dumbledore in ancientness. Ilvermorny, based in Boston, was joined by their West coast counterpart; Maston Academy, from near San Francisco.

Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, being the two schools in nearest geographical proximity, arrived, respectively, in a flying carriage and a floating boat.

Half of the school was impressed, whilst the remainder seemed to be branding them show-offs.

Xi-Xo-An, from China, Uagadou, of Uganda, Abasodro Demigi, Peru, Casa Raffaello, Italy, and Koldovstoretz, Russia, brought the total to twelve. The Russian students, for some reason still swathed in the furs that would fend off the biting Siberian climate, looked viciously intimidating with their bulky forms, hard eyes and stormy expressions.

* * *

Dumbledore was beaming again. Still clad in his robes from earlier, he glowed merrily in the light of ten thousand candles.

The foreign students, two hundred or so in total, sat around their own tables in the Great Hall. Apparently no one was willing to push the international magical friendship agenda too far too quickly. Given the savagely competitive nature of the tournament, Harry supposed that it was quite likely very little would be achieved on that front.

"It makes an old man's heart glad to see so many of our magical brethren join us this evening." Dumbledore began happily. "I hope that this year many valuable and long-lasting friendships can form, helping to pave a future of greater cooperation and integration."

 _Well,_ Harry mused, _he's getting plenty of Crouch Sr's keywords in, even if what he's saying is completely nonsensical._

The students clapped politely, albiet with a few eye rolls.

"I know you are all impatient to learn more about the selection process." He continued. "And I would not want to ruin your enjoyment of the feast by making you wait." He moved around from his seat as he spoke to stand in front of the head table.

A flick of his wand summoned an object. It looked rather like a six-tiered wedding cake made of carved wood panels. A tap of his wand and the top two tiers slid down to reveal a large cup, made of the same dark wood. Brilliant blue flames flickered into life in the goblet.

"You write your name, as well as your school, on a slip of paper and drop it into the goblet. I will be placing it in the entrance hall after the feast tonight, and you will have under the start of tomorrow's to enter yourselves. I will be drawing an Age Line around the goblet to prevent those not of age from entering themselves. Should you be in possession of a parental permission slip, present it and yourself to your head of house, who will escort you across the line.

With that all covered, let us feast!" He exclaimed, summoning food to the tables.

"Well, that was surprisingly quick." Liram commented as he helped himself to some sort of baked ham.

"I suspect Crouch Sr briefed him in advance," Daphne commented, "although I am a little surprised Dumbledore actually listened."

"I suspect even ageing headmasters get stage fright in front of eleven of their competitors." Harry noted.

"Shame none of us could enter." Liram said. "Although, I don't think I'd fancy facing any of the Russians."

Daphne nodded.

"They do look like serial killers," she agreed.

* * *

Dumbledore stood again, looking out over a sea of nervous, excited, impassive, and mildly curious faces.

"The time has come…"

"…the Walrus said…" Harry continued under his breath.

The Goblet was summoned, and Dumbledore duly tapped his wand against it, apparently asking it to make a decision.

The Goblet's flames flashed red with each name as it steadily disgorged its contents.

Hogwarts clapped the selected students politely as they stood and went through the indicated doorway to the left of the head table. The students not chosen, Harry noted, were either wildly supportive, patently disappointed, or, in the case of the Durmstrang and the Russians, completely stoic.

"Cedric Diggory!" Dumbledore announced delightedly.

The Hufflepuff tables roared out their support as the adonis stood and followed the others.

An expectant pause fell for a moment before another rectangle of parchment fluttered out of the flames to be snatched by wizened fingers.

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called. He beamed around at his nonplussed audience.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the headmaster before rising to his feet. He glanced briefly at his friends, who looked back curiously.

He spread his hands in front of him in a brief gesture to convey his own confusion without letting the rest of the hall see.

Settling a pureblood mask into place, Harry strode up towards Dumbledore. A fair few students were clapping amidst the confusion now, seemingly satisfied by the headmaster's own apparent contentment.

The assembled head teachers eyed him with a mixture of frowns and cutting appraisal.

"I'm honoured, Professor." Harry told the headmaster, deciding the words sufficiently ambiguous to adequately cover most of the multitude of flashing possibilities in his head. Then he decided that he couldn't resist.

"For next time, though, it's Potter-Black." 

He turned and swept through to the antechamber where twenty three other champions were waiting.

He quirked a smile at a faintly confused looking Cedric, before joining him to lean against the opposite side of the mantle around the blazing hearth.

"You're the other champion?" Cedric questioned.

Harry shrugged in faint noncommittal.

"Apparently."

Some of the other champions were eyeing him with recognition.

The door burst open and a gaggle of head teachers came in, chattering amongst themselves.

"Harry." Dumbledore addressed him with an indulgent firmness.

Harry raised a cool eyebrow at the man.

"Professor. Are you able to enlighten me?"

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

The eyebrow stretched a little higher.

"I would have thought the implication of my previous question made it patently obvious that I did not." He replied in a voice biting enough to make Professor Snape proud.

"An unwilling, underage champion, Dumbledore?" The maniacally bearded Karkaroff interjected nastily.

"I'm sure Harry here is perfectly willing to take part." Dumbledore said with cheerful obliviousness. "He's emancipated anyway."

"I fear I had not realised to what extent I would be taking my life into my own hands with my emancipation." Harry noted drily. "Would it not be wiser to persuade the Goblet to select an alternative second champion for Hogwarts, Professor, I am, after all, a mere fourteen years old, and relatively new to the school?"

Dumbledore merely beamed on.

"Nonsense, my boy. From your Professors' feedback I find it difficult to imagine a worthier champion. Besides, your age merely makes the achievement all the more extraordinary."

"I'm sure. Even if I had help."

"Exactly!" Dumbledore exclaimed, before turning away from a conversation that had become increasingly bewildering to congratulate Diggory effusively.

* * *

"Champions, gather round." Lord Crouch's command was peremptory.

"The first task will take place in a month's time on the thirtieth of November. Its objective, from the point of view of the tournament, is to halve your numbers. Twelve champions will make it through to the next task. Survival of the fittest. That is all you are to know."

A couple of the less stoic champions muttered complaints about the lack of information.

Harry turned to face his fellow champion, finding himself admiring the play of warm candlelight along cheekbones and pooling in dark eyes.

"Cedric, can we talk?" He asked.

Diggory looked momentarily startled, but drew himself together quickly.

"Of course, Harry." He replied, a barely noticeable pause on the name.

Harry flashed a grin at him before pushing himself away from the mantelpiece and leading his companion through the crowd.

They were silent as they walked through the now empty Great Hall.

"So," Cedric began as they crossed the Entrance Hall, "who do you think did put your name in the Goblet?"

Harry glanced at him. "I'm flattered by your trust. I suspect a considerable number of our schoolmates will not have such faith in my word."

Cedric chuckled softly. "Then they're not worth bothering about."

"Of course not. And it was probably Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Cedric asked with a certain curiosity, but a surprising lack of disbelief.

"He drew the Age Line. He's too clever to leave a flaw in the system, as I believe Mr Flint found out when he attempted to submit Mr Malfoy's name. That my name came out of the Goblet, or that he announced my name regardless of what was written on the parchment, is more than indicative of at least a certain complicity."

Cedric raised an eyebrow. "But why would he?"

Harry shrugged as they reached the entrance of the corridor to Blackleprickle Tower. "Any number of reasons. Because he's insane. Because he's curious about me and wants to see the abilities of the toddler who defeated the Dark Lord. Because he thinks he can offer me hints in the tasks and my gratitude indebts me to him. Because he's really a blood supremacist who didn't want to risk a muggleborn becoming champion. Because the old guard in the Wizengamot will want both slots to be occupied by candidates they regard as suitable representatives of British Wizarding society, that is to say, nobles. Because he's read too many fairy stories and thinks the meddling old wizard sends the hero on his quest. Because he truly has faith in my abilities and thinks me the best chance Hogwarts has at winning, so he has to see my name come out regardless of the limitations he was instrumental in having imposed."

He paused.

"But those are just my initial thoughts, it could be all of those, none of those, he may not even be in the slightest bit responsible."

"But you don't think so?"

It was Harry's turn to chuckle, darkly. "When the headmaster of the relevant school is the only one with the power to remove a champion whose name has been drawn from the competition? Dumbledore is either directly involved, or willing to risk my life to see what develops."

Cedric didn't answer, and watched silently as Harry pressed his hand flat against the ironbound door to Blackleprickle Tower, which clicked open as it recognised him. Harry beckoned Cedric through after him.

Cedric whistled.

"Impressive. I must be one of the first students not in your house to get to visit?" He asked.

Harry shrugged, making his way over to a sofa near the hearth and dropping himself down, drawing his legs up after him.

"Daphne's sister has been a couple of times. I think she's lusting after both Liram and me, though, so when she's not emulating her sister's pureblood princess act she's hiding up in her rooms.

Cedric laughed softly, and came to sit opposite, emulating his position.

"So," he began, "can I ask why you wanted me to join you?" He smiled faintly before amending "Not that you need a reason, of course."

Harry grinned back.

"Of course not." He agreed. "Well I wanted to talk to you away from the other champions so we can discuss pairing up, for the first task, at least."

Cedric raised an eyebrow.

"But we don't know what the first task is. The information we've been given doesn't even preclude us from being matched against one another." He pointed out.

"A remote possibility, I think," Harry answered. "Only practicable if we're all to be paired against one another by a random draw; halving each schools champion count would probably be a diplomatic solution, but hardly satisfactory on any other level."

"We could be doing individual tasks?"

"With twenty four of us?" Harry challenged calmly. "Possible, but it's supposed to be a spectator thing; maybe a couple of hours for each task. It's hardly practical to give twenty four of us individual challenges."

Cedric nodded.

"Is it fair to team up?"

Harry snorted faintly with laughter.

"You're so Hufflepuff it hurts."

Cedric looked mildly offended, but smiled slightly.

Harry continued.

"And bearing that in mind, what I'm about to suggest will likely sound like sacrilege."

Cedric, now looking amused, raised an interested eyebrow.

"We find out what the first task is, and cheat." Harry said succinctly.

Cedric managed to remain impassive.

"And how do you suggest we cheat?"

"Well, I already suspect that the format will be some sort of free for all. As soon as we're down to twelve, everything stops; letting it continue would put a champion out in front much too early."

Cedric quirked an eyebrow at him.

"And you think teaming up with me would be worth the additional baggage of my presence reducing the slots available to you down to eleven?"

"You make me sound so mercenary." A grinning Harry replied.

Cedric was smiling openly.

"This is the most mercenary conversation I've ever had."

"Then you must not have hired many assassins."

Cedric laughed.

"I couldn't possibly comment."

"We have an agreement?"

Cedric nodded briefly, eyes playing over Harry's face.

"We do."

"Then I suggest we meet up again in a few days and share what we've found out."

Cedric smirked faintly.

"Testing your new ally?"

"You think me that calculating?"

Cedric's expression became serious, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Even more so."

Harry grinned again.

"Then I can't see either of us worrying much about fighting for that twelfth spot."

"New friend, Harry?"

"Liram, come join the new school champions."

He came over and sat down on the third sofa surrounding the fireplace.

"Well, congratulations, I suppose, to the pair of you."

"Thanks," Harry said drily.


	15. Chapter 15

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-XV-

"That fucker!"

"I'm so glad there aren't any impressionable children about." Harry told his still growling godfather mildly.

"Fuck the children!"

"That's probably Azkaban."

"Very funny. Who entered you?"

Harry frowned at his godfather's unconscious innuendo.

"Dumbledore."

"That fucker!"

"I'd hate for you to lose your reputation for originality."

"What reputation would that be?"

Dorea joined Sirius in the mirror's frame.

"Granny! You always come in at the best times. One might almost think you were listening at doors."

She gestured dismissively.

"But that would be gauche. Even the suggestion."

"A crime I cannot imagine you committing." He told her with grin.

"Of course not. You can't escape, I take it?"

"The contract seems pretty unambiguous. And with the magic behind the tournament being more than a thousand years old, I don't really want to have to fight against it."

"So, you'll be wanting information about the first task?"

"Whatever you can give me. I have a couple of other sources to use, but your trustworthiness is beyond doubt."

"You flatter me. Anyway, you'll have whatever I can find. You know half a dozen Chinese wizards attempted to raid Crouch's offices here in London a couple of hours ago?"

"I hadn't heard. Did they get anything?"

"I doubt it. But it depends how much he wanted them to get their hands on. Cheating is such a traditional part of the tournament that I wouldn't put it past the organisers helping to facilitate it this time round just to help prevent collateral damage."

"You shouldn't encounter any difficulties then?"

"Certainly not with the stuff that might as well be in the public domain. The rest, well I doubt that will be a problem either."

"How is it you're not in charge of foreign intelligence, or something similar?"

She smirked at him.

"Well, it's only sporting to give other governments a chance at keeping their secrets."

* * *

Harry was drawn from his thoughts by a soft knocking.

A glance towards the entrance and a twist of his will had the ironbound door sweeping open.

"Come in." He called calmly, trying to slow the unconscious quickening of his pulse.

Cedric came in and sat himself down.

"A drink?"

The other boy nodded, raising an eyebrow when he was presented with a glass of wine.

"Dare I ask whether Dumbledore knows you have alcohol up here?"

Harry shrugged.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him. The Gryffindors were stockpiling firewhiskey." He paused. Cedric took the bait.

"Were?"

"Well. As I understand it they were anticipating some Quidditch victories this year."

Cedric smirked slightly.

"Oh dear. They'll have to drown their sorrows instead."

He took a sip, and looked slightly surprised.

"This is excellent."

Harry laughed.

"I should be offended, you know, but instead I can only pity that you would ever be foolish enough to question my taste."

Cedric grinned.

"I would, of course, never do such a thing. I fear you misread my expression. It was merely the sudden shock of realising that the Quidditch victories the Gryffindors were hoping to celebrate might become instead their drinking to honour the tournament success of their chief rival's seeker."

"Then your expression was more than justified."

"I thought so too."

Cedric sat and sipped contemplatively for a minute. Eventually he reached into his robes and drew out a sheaf of folded parchment, which he proceeded to slide across the low table between them.

Harry glanced at the parchment's watermark before drawing an identical packet out and sliding it across to Cedric.

Cedric smiled.

"I think that allays any concerns I might have had."

Harry inclined his head slightly.

"Not that I had any doubts about you. A larger concern was instead the faint question over the structure of the task permitting us to team up."

"One I think now assuaged."

"Indeed. So, partner," Harry said, taking some peculiar satisfaction in the word, "let us plan."

* * *

"Harry."

He turned in the corridor to find Draco Malfoy, having just followed him out of potions, looking at him.

"Draco." He greeted the boy warmly. "What can I do for you?"

He indicated Liram and Daphne, who were both eyeing the other boy with hard-edged expressions, to go on without him.

They didn't move.

"No, they can stay." Draco said quickly. "Your question should be the other way around." He continued, thrusting some paper towards him, Ministry watermark readily apparent.

"Thank you, Draco, I'm glad to see the Malfoy family rates me so highly."

Draco looked pleased, but frowned slightly as he realised the documents had been recognised.

"Although, perhaps, my gratitude might have been expected tenfold, had I had no clue, skill, or qualms about cheating. Oh, what implication from underestimation."

A few seconds of processing followed before the pale cheeks flushed slightly.

"Nevertheless, I have made a move." Was the eventual response.

"One I will, as a favour, take in good faith."

Draco nodded stiffly and walked away.

* * *

"Interesting exchange." Daphne commented as they walked away.

"Yes." Agreed Liram.

"Care to share, Harry?"

He smirked at her.

"How about you return the favour?"

She caught on quickly enough.

"He gave you information about the first task." She stated promptly, Harry managing to catch only the faintest note of question.

"He did," he agreed. "Lord Malfoy appears to be less far behind your father than perhaps he was hoping."

"Indeed." She mused. "He kept Liram and me both there so we could see the Malfoys doing you a massive favour."

"Which I think I effectively devalued, and then called into question the very nature of."

"You did." She stopped. "You could perhaps have pressed harder, turned the information and used it as leverage?"

He shrugged.

"I could have tried, but Lucius Malfoy is far too good to let anything like that stick. He tries to ingratiate himself with me, and it's the perceived risk factor that heightens the value of the gift. Of course, it doesn't, because should I try to report it my own credibility would be damaged just as much. Everyone would know I had foreknowledge of the first task, which, irrespective of any collateral damage done to Lord Malfoy, would likely harm me more."

"But you took the information?"

"I didn't want to cause offence. I suspect my clear recognition of the document will be enough to convince Lucius it was genuinely valueless to me, which gives him no owed favour to press. On the other hand, that I didn't act outraged and throw it all instantly back into Draco's face suggests that I might be receptive to future overtures.

The embarrassing Draco bit was merely to persuade him to be more diplomatic in future. He was overconfident; convinced that the Malfoy favour would put pressure on the pair of you. If he was thinking a little further he could also have wanted it to be a warning to your fathers; that his father can produce what neither of yours can."

Daphne sniffed.

"Some of our fathers have more honour."

Liram grinned at her.

"And some have more faith in our champion here."

"That I have the skills without the information, or that I genuinely already had it?" Harry asked, amused.

"I could flatter you by going with the first. But I really meant the second."

"Well done."

"I was right?"

"It wasn't even twenty four hours after my name came out of the goblet that I had the information Draco gave me. Within forty eight I knew more than I suspect any other champion does even now, with a week to go."

Liram grinned at him, before looking thoughtful.

"You think Lord Malfoy left it so late to put pressure on you, and to make you more grateful to him for coming to the rescue?"

"Well, either that, or it took him three weeks to get his own hands on it."

"If that's even a possibility, it makes me wonder how the other champions know anything, and how you got your information so quickly."

"Is that a question, Daphne?"

"Perhaps."

"Lord Crouch doesn't like Lord Malfoy. It would make sense that he would do everything in his power to keep the information out of his hands. This tournament is, after all, the coup on whose success any resurgent political ambitions of Lord Crouch's rest."

Liram raised an arch eyebrow.

"Indeed, the problem is that he hasn't yet realised that no one actually likes him."

Daphne smirked.

"I'm told by father that his pet Weasley is quite attentive."

"It's power that particular Weasley lusts after, not toothbrush moustaches." Liram noted.

* * *

"The weighing of the wands?" Daphne asked a worryingly excited small child.

The boy nodded eagerly.

"Mr Ollivander's here!" He exclaimed excitedly. "And some reporters!"

"So that's what this is all about." Daphne mused. "Getting you all introduced to the public before the tournament begins, build up the excitement."

Harry rose from his lunch.

"Well, I suppose I'd better go then. I'll see you two sometime this afternoon."

They nodded him off as he was dragged away by the first year, who had finally squeakily identified himself as Colin Creevey.

Harry was relieved to escape the chatter when they eventually reached a large and unused classroom on the first floor.

He entered to find most of the champions already assembled, along with their head teachers. Ollivander was engaged in conversation with a faintly frowning Dumbledore, whilst a dozen reporters and accompanying photographers sat with eager expressions at the far end of the room.

"Vive mintz."

Harry raised an eyebrow as he turned his head slightly to face the growl.

"Five minutes?" He inquired curiously of the mountainous Russian student, hoping he'd translated the thick burr correctly.

"Ow long you vill last in ze virst tazk."

 _"You must have considerable faith in my abilities if you expect me to last so long against yourself."_ He replied mildly in Russian.

Dark brown eyes narrowed.

" _You speak my language?"_

 _"I do."_ He paused. _"I think we could even become friends."_ He suddenly grinned viciously. " _Such a pity your arrogance will force me to tear you apart long before that ever happens."_

The man actually stepped back at the sudden change, before rallying to glare and growl animalistically at him.

Just as Harry was readying himself for an attack, a hand landed on his opponent's fur-trimmed shoulder.

"Andrei." A voice said sharply in only faintly accented English. "Calm yourself."

The other champion from Koldovstoretz was as tall as his companion, pushing six and a half feet, but lean where the other was bulky. His own brown eyes were shrewd and cruel, tightly cropped beard shadowing an emaciated face that looked older than its eighteen years.

Andrei reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged away.

"'Quila." Came an infinitely more pleasant and richly accented voice.

"Mademoiselle Delacour." Harry greeted her, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "I am astonished to find you even more breathtaking than at our last meeting."

She chuckled throatily.

"So you remember 'eet?"

"Alas, all I remember of that evening is you."

"My beauty?" She said, voice somewhere between warm and sharp.

"Not nearly as much as your wit and sophistication."

He expression relaxed somewhat.

"You are vary diplomatic, Lord Potter-Black."

"I do try. How is Gabrielle?"

The girl's eyes seemed to soften against her will at the mention of her younger sister.

"She is well. She vill start at Beauxbatons next year." She smiled. "You know, she could talk of little but you for a month after your meeting."

"Only a month?"

Fleur laughed.

"She vas only nine." She told him.

"And enchanting even then."

"Champions!"

Fleur winced slightly at the booming exclamation as they turned to face the beaming Ludo Bagman standing at the front of the room.

"Welcome to the Weighing of the Wands! If you'd all like to take a seat then I'll explain the program of events for this afternoon."

The champions sat in the centre of the room, the head teachers and several Ministry officials behind a large velvet clothed table facing them.

"Mr Ollivander will be examining each of your wands to ensure they are up to the trials ahead." Bagman continued, feeding off of his own drama.

"Following the inspections, Miss Skeeter here," he continued, indicating a square jawed and plastically platinum blonded woman in the centre of the press pack, "will be hosting a group interview for the Daily Prophet. Reporters from the countries you represent will also be able to ask questions, and you will be able to speak to your nation's publication individually afterwards."

He beamed at two dozen faces, of which perhaps a quarter were looking even remotely enthusiastic.

"So, without further ado, Mr. Ollivander!"

The elderly gentleman stood stiffly from his seat off to one side.

"Ando, Haruka." He said crisply, reading the name from a parchment list suspended steadily at his side.

One of the gold-robed Japanese competitors stood and presented Ollivander with a pale wand.

"Cherry wood." The wandmaker murmured, turning it over in pale spindly fingers. "A material I use occasionally, but have never quite mastered as the craftsmen of your country. It is easy to see, however, why wielders of such wands are so well respected in Japan."

Haruka stood impassively as Ollivander conducted his examinations, although he did smile faintly when the man conjured a fall of pale pink cherry blossom before handing the wand back.

The champions were proceeded through alphabetically, the reporters heard occasionally scribbling down notes at the back of the room. A few eyebrows were raised when the first Koldovstoretz student, the lean one, presented Ollivander with a heavy staff that was a good foot taller than the elderly wandmaker.

"Ah," he exclaimed with great interest. "I see you school still keeps up its traditions," he paused to examine the staff for a few moments. "My, my, most impressive. You killed it yourself, of course?"

"I did." The boy said stoically. "Last year. The only ice bear taken during the entire season."

Harry raised an eyebrow as he took in what he now realised must once have been part of the femur of one of the monstrous creatures that roamed the frozen magical wastes of Siberia.

Eventually Ollivander rapped the staff sharply against the floor, watching with apparent satisfaction as the impacted flagstone cracked before shattering as crisply as a smashed pane of glass.

The presented wands showed a staggering variety. Cedric's ebony creation became the subject of considerable muttering from those assembled when Ollivander claimed to have made its core from the freely given heartstring of a unicorn.

Xi-Xo-An's students wielded their magic through intricately decorated gloves. The students from Uagadou were similarly commented upon for not using anything at all in the place of wands, which, if one believed the muttering of the Italian student behind Harry, meant they were 'fucked'.

Harry eyed Ollivander steadily as he approached and handed over his wand. He remained impassive as the man delighted in the opportunity to show off his brilliance. The illusory basilisk the wandmaker subsequently conjured was enough to make a Brazilian boy in the front row squeak with fright, and earn him a contemptuous glare from the girl next to him. Harry pretended not to notice Miss Skeeter eyeing him with lustful possessiveness as he went to sit back down.

"Excellent." Bagman declared eventually, bounding from his seat as soon as the last student had been ushered back to theirs.

"If you'd all like to turn your chairs round," he continued, "then we can begin the group interview. Never fear, your head teachers are all willing to step in and address questions as well. Over to you, Miss Skeeter."

She smiled a crocodile's smile and snapped shut a handbag made from its skin.

"Thank you Ludo. Now, if I might just begin with a few general questions. Don't worry, anyone can answer. Now, how did you feel when your name came out of the goblet?" She began.

The Italian student from earlier, now in front of Harry, was the first to answer.

"Satisfied."

The reporter's eyes sharpened.

"So you expected to be chosen?"

He nodded.

"Of course."

The other student from Casa Rafaello snorted next to him, which the talkative one ignored.

"Was anyone surprised about being chosen?"

"Very." A pretty Chilean girl answered immediately. "It's an honour to be selected, and one I still cannot quite believe myself worthy of."

Several champions were nodding along, apparently deciding the girl's sentiments were appropriate ones to be thought in accordance with.

Harry noted a few others, however, giving the girl sharp looks, seemingly justifiably suspicious about the obviously rehearsed words.

"Let's not underestimate that one," he murmured softly to Cedric, who subtly nodded his agreement.

"How have you all been preparing for the tournament?" A reporter with only the faintest hint of a French accent asked, earning himself a glare from Miss Skeeter for his troubles.

"Wrestling anacondas." The Brazilian boy from earlier said immediately, his comment receiving several snorts of amusement for the irony he didn't seem to appreciate.

"I 'ave been training wiz several aurorz from my country." Fleur Delacour commented, which was apparently exactly what the reporter from her country had wanted.

The group interview went on for another twenty minutes or so, Harry and Cedric, along with a few of the other competitors, carefully keeping their silence, much to Skeeter's apparent disappointment.

"Now," she declared eventually, "I think some group photographs before we all sneak away with our champions."

"Don't let me be sneaked away with." Cedric commented softly.

Harry laughed. "I'm not sure it's you who requires protection."

They were all chivvied into position by the photographers. It took some considerable time as they decided that each of the photos for their country's publication required their competitors to be sat in the middle of the group, alongside their head teacher.

Harry and Cedric found themselves dragged off by Miss Skeeter shortly after that, trying not to wince under her clutching talons.

"Isn't this nice?" She exclaimed as they came to a small room stacked with old furniture, seating herself and pulling out an acid green quill.

"Delightful." Harry remarked drily before narrowing his eyes at the woman. "However, Miss Skeeter, I find it somewhat problematic that your editor selected you to conduct this interview."

"Problematic, dear?" She asked, before jumping slightly as the quill hovering beside her disappeared in a flash of silent flame.

"All contact and correspondence between myself and The Daily Prophet is to be handled either by Samuel Ardenny or the editor himself. I have no interest in cheap gossip, Miss Skeeter, and my displeasure will be made known to Mr Cuffe."

"But surely, you can spare me just a few words?" She said persuasively, leaning forward in her rickety chair and pushing her cleavage forward.

"Miss Skeeter. Be in no doubt. I may indeed be fourteen years old, but a couple of owls from me could make you homeless and unemployable before the morning edition hits the presses. There will be no interview. There will be no further contact between us. Any attempts to establish such contact will result in legal proceedings."

She opened her mouth, looking for the first time unsure of what to say.

"Mr Diggory is similarly uninclined to subject himself to your advances." Harry continued, having no intention of leaving the object of his lust alone with the woman.

They left.

"That was fun." Cedric said, grinning. "But, she is dangerous. My father's found himself attacked by her a couple of times in the past."

"I am not your father." _Thank Merlin,_ he added internally. "Call me arrogant, but I suspect myself to be far more valuable to the Prophet at the moment than Miss Skeeter. She's not naïve enough to not know there are a dozen replacements lined up to take her place when she makes one enemy too many."

* * *

"Potter."

Harry turned his head towards the growl, and waited as Professor Moody impatiently gestured Daphne and Liram onwards.

"Professor?" He asked when they were alone.

"You know what you're going to do in this task?" The man asked, magical eye whirling about whilst the still living one focused on him beadily.

"Do you doubt me?"

Moody frowned slightly.

"Brooms, Potter." He said before stumping away.

Harry eyed the retreating form for a few second before turning to catch up with his friends, who he found waiting for him around the next corner.

"What did he want?" A curious Liram asked.

Harry shrugged.

"To help me with the first task."

"Curious." Daphne murmured softly.

Liram grinned. "He thinks you need help? Throwing off his imperius must not have been enough to impress him."

"Anyone with a rudimentary understanding of Occlumency could have broken the imperius he was tossing about. Neither you nor Daphne even blinked."

Daphne chuckled darkly. "My father would disown me if I had. He'd probably have had Moody killed as well, but falling prey to the imperius is an indignity no Greengrass will suffer."

Liram smirked. "I'm sure Lord Malfoy would be delighted to hear your views on the subject."

She returned his expression. "Oh, he knows what my father thinks. It keeps him slightly on-edge when the two of them negotiate."

"Poor Lucius." Harry commented. "Although I feel more sorry for Weasley, being made to confess his forbidden love for Professor Snape."

Daphne actually giggled.

"That was artistically done of Moody." She agreed. "The sort of thing that's hilarious when it happens, and then just builds from there. I wonder what will happen when Snape finds out."

"No idea." Said Liram. "But you can be fairly sure that the first he hears of it will not involve him being told the imperius was involved."

At that point he stumbled slightly as the redhead shoved past him, followed closely by Neville and Seamus.

"I don't know whether I feel guilty now or not." Daphne commented with a faint sigh.

"Don't." Harry advised her. "I rescued the Creevey brothers from a cupboard yesterday. Apparently they'd been locked in there by Weasley overnight."

His companions frowned.

"Well, that's bad, of course." Liram nodded. "Although, if that one doesn't stop following us around with his ridiculous camera I might have to lock him up myself."

"Agreed." Said Daphne.

* * *

"And Heidwallader's Fourth Coefficient Matrix can be applied to the principle, making the whole thing cyclical."

Cedric was silent for a while.

"Vector said you were good, but this…"

Harry grinned. "Don't be modest. She raves about you as well, you know."

Cedric blushed slightly.

"Besides, muggle 3D modelling software gives me something of an unfair advantage in this." Harry continued, gesturing towards the laptop whose screen was being projected onto the wall.

"It is amazing." Cedric acknowledged. "You're going to have to show me how to use it. Muggle Studies barely goes into any detail on computers."

"Save me the amusement of hearing Worthington talk about them. I think they're one of next term's modules."

Cedric grinned and nodded.

"I look forward to hearing your assessment."

* * *

"So, Pup, how's life?"

Harry couldn't help but smile back at Sirius' irrepressibly grinning face. He leant back in his chair slightly, the enchanted mirror hovering in front of him adjusting its position automatically to stay focused on his face.

"Pretty good. I think I can safely say that the first task isn't going to be a problem."

Sirius kept grinning.

"Never doubted it for a minute. Although, looking at the format, if you draw too much attention you might get gangbanged."

"Cedric and my strategy should negate that risk. Whilst possibly encouraging it."

Sirius' face twisted in confusion.

"You want to get gangbanged? That's pretty hardcore for a fourteen year old."

Harry rolled his eyes and waited, smirking faintly, for his godfather to process the other part of his statement.

"Wait," he said suddenly, " _Cedric_ and my strategy?"

"You didn't think I'd leave the other Hogwarts champion out in the cold, did you?" Harry questioned innocently.

Sirius grinned dirtily.

"I've seen photos. The last thing you want to do is leave that boy out in the cold. Unless it's so you can offer to warm him up later."

"He's hot." Harry acknowledged as casually as he could.

Sirius' eyes sparkled. "Oh, he's more than that. In all seriousness, I'm mostly straight, but when there's a Greek god on offer…"

Harry let himself be drawn.

"He's not. He's mine."

Sirius' eyes widened momentarily before he laughed triumphantly.

"Does he know about this?"

"I hope so. If that Chang girl tries to sink her claws any deeper she'll be found floating in the lake."

Sirius whistled.

"Serious then."

"He's probably straight. Anyway, how are the aurors?"

Sirius let himself be distracted.

"Not too bad, actually. They've finally reinstated my seniority in some measure of apology."

"I heard about that." Harry said drily. "I'm sure Scrimgeour's delighted."

Sirius barked out a laugh.

"Old Rufus will come round. He's just angry my squad demolished his in manoeuvres last week."

Harry sighed. "Of course they did. Did diplomacy even make it into the top ten considerations?"

Sirius grinned.

"You wound me. I'm a gentleman. I tied him up and told him I'd like to negotiate the terms of his surrender."

"I don't know whether to laugh or despair."

"Despair." Came the prompt reply from somewhere out of Sirius' mirror's view. A few seconds later the image drew back to take in his aunt and grandmother sitting together on a settee next to Sirius' armchair.

"Hey Aunt Mim, Granny." Harry greeted them cheerfully.

"I hope you're well prepared for this first task." Dorea said with fake severity.

"I'd hate for London to be underwhelmed by the news of my exploits." Harry shot back flippantly.

"You really would be. Rumours of your academic success have already reached certain ears in the capital. You will be being watched with even more interest than your fame and position alone would merit."

"I've had plenty of press training with Aunt Mim." Harry said. "The scrutiny might be much harsher now, but I know the principles."

Dorea and Aunt Mim nodded approvingly, whilst Sirius coughed "attention whore" behind his hand.

"You've done well with Ardenny." His grandmother acknowledged. "I've given him the exclusive for my time in exile. A small piece, but it will gain me some favours if it's handled with enough delicacy."

"Sirius' trial was spun brilliantly."

His Aunt narrowed her eyes at him.

"Stop fishing for compliments, I saw so much of your hand in the article I was surprised you weren't credited as a co-author."

"Give me a minute and I'll work up a blush."

Sirius snorted.

"Ask about his boyfriend."

"Cedric is not my boyfriend." Harry replied coolly.

His Aunt looked interested even as his grandmother frowned faintly.

"Harry," she began with a slight note of warning, "I suspect it extremely unlikely that Amos would take anything between you and his son kindly."

"I appreciate your concern, but when there is nothing more than friendship between Cedric and myself, it would seem to be, at present, somewhat unnecessary." He replied with some finality.

His Aunt's eyes narrowed slightly, but Dorea nodded.

"So, how's the trial, Aunt Mim?" Harry questioned, moving the conversation on again.

She smiled a truly frightening smile.

"I've moved to prevent their extradition. If I can keep them in their country then pressing for capital punishment shouldn't prove impossible."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"The Geneva Convention flew right by you, didn't it?"

His Aunt smirked slightly.

"The what?"

"You know, you'd fit right in in the magical world. The Ministry has about twenty prisoners a year kissed."

She sniffed disapprovingly.

"A hopelessly inefficient, unnecessarily cruel method of execution."

"At risk of getting into a debate on morality and its relation to jurisprudence, I think the idea is more that it acts as a deterrent. The twenty criminals are, in the grand scheme of things, made inconsequential by their numbers and crimes."

She nodded agreeably.

"True, even though I tend to be against capital punishment in general. Sometimes, however, it is deeply satisfying to see some people taken entirely out of consideration."

"That must be the 'vicious practicality' commentators have picked up on."

"I'm practical. You edge towards ruthless."

Harry's eyes sharpened slightly.

"My life, your life, my family's' lives, my friends'. They are all vastly more valuable than the average person."

Aunt Mim sighed.

"And that's exactly what convinced my old professor at Oxford that you were a burgeoning psychopath."

Dorea chuckled lightly.

"We haven't had proper psychopath in the family for nearly fourteen hundred years."

"Dare I ask?" Aunt Mim asked.

"Chief Hardaxe's rebellion of 648. Ophiuchia Black, according to family records, single-handedly crushed an army of four thousand goblins, killing more than half of them. She is still known as the Drasta-ar-Rep, or 'Curse of our People' by the clans." Dorea said.

"She slew Hardaxe in single combat, and necromantically animated the corpses of the goblins she killed to turn upon their brethren. The only recorded instance of more than five hundred inferi created whilst in battle." Harry finished.

"My mother's most coveted ancestor." Sirius added. "For obvious reasons."

"You're all coming to the first task?"

"Wouldn't miss it, Pup." Sirius replied cheerfully. "In fact, it's likely to be my squad leading the security detail."

"Your reward for beating Scrimgeour?"

"Something like that."

"We'll be there as well." His grandmother assured him.

"Excellent. Although, just a heads-up, I doubt my performance in this task will be particularly dramatic."

Dorea raised an eyebrow.

"I can probably settle for impressive but understated."

"Excellent."


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's note:** Hey! Sorry for the massive and entirely unwarranted (this chapter has been written for months) delay. Anyway, just a note to say that I've reread the whole story from beginning to end, cut out a couple of bits I thought were unnecessary, corrected some grammar and adjusted and sharpened quite a few things. The changes don't affect the plot.

Anyway; First Task!

\- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-XVI-

"My, my, so many interested in a mere school competition." Daphne noted, arching a pale brow.

"You wound me."

"The tournament is pretty internationally significant." Liram reasoned. "A lot of competitors are the future leaders of the magical world. There are almost certainly Olympic scouts watching, well, watching those who aren't already being trained to compete."

"But still, seating for twenty thousand would seem a little excessive."

Harry shrugged.

"Tickets sold out within twenty four hours of the Prophet announcing them."

Liram nodded.

"If you lived too far from London then your owl was unlikely to make it in time."

"Well, looks like I have to leave you guys here." Harry told his friends as they arrived outside the tent he'd been told to present himself at.

They both hugged him briefly before walking off towards the stands.

Taking a moment to get over Liram's momentary closeness, Harry walked inside.

* * *

Competitors milled about nervously. The muted sound of retching could be heard from screened-off sections at the back.

"Looking good." Harry grinned as he greeted an approaching Cedric. The other boy was dressed in a soft grey shirt, collar unbuttoned, that highlighted the taper of his torso and had its sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms.

"You too." He was told after a slight pause, as Cedric took in his own equally tight-fitting white shirt and dark jeans.

"Vy are you not drezzed properly?"

Harry decided to respond in English this time, to give the Russian bear a chance to practice.

"Well," he gestured expansively, "I felt no need to wrap myself up with the weather so warm." He grinned. "Nor do I have any fear of attack." He eyed the other student's thick layers of brown dragonhide pointedly.

"Your arrogance will get you killed, boy." The other Russian student told him as he came once more to drag his companion away.

"Well, so much for an uneventful first task." Cedric commented lightly.

"Couldn't resist. Besides, Andrei is adorable when he's angry."

Cedric frowned suddenly, eyeing the bulky Russian.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "you're ready?"

The other boy's eyes sharpened with excitement.

"I am."

And in that moment, he was irresistible.

* * *

Harry, not thinking too much, and with adrenaline already coursing through his veins, grabbed his hand and dragged Cedric back into one of the curtained alcoves at the rear of the tent.

"What?" Cedric managed to ask before he was cut off.

Harry pushed him up against the canvas wall of the tent and kissed him.

 _Fuck, but I really won't regret this, whatever happens._ Harry thought as he pressed himself against firm lips.

One simultaneously fantastic and agonising moment later, and he was kissed back. Strong arms came up to wrap themselves around his neck, even as his own dropped from the other boy's shoulders to encircle his waist.

Eventually, their lips broke apart.

"Fuck." Cedric gasped out.

The sight of the other boy, usually so poised and composed, flushed and panting slightly, forced Harry to press in again.

Harry had never kissed another boy. He couldn't imagine that he needed to kiss others to find any better than this one. Their heads seemed to tilt instinctively, lips pressing together hungrily.

Even their second kiss had to come to an end eventually, though.

Still holding on to one another, they composed themselves for a moment broken only by gasped breaths.

"I think I like you, Harry." Cedric said softly, eventually.

"I think I like you too, Cedric." Harry replied, suddenly enjoying the way the other boy's name rolled off his tongue, and appreciating the reverent press of syllables given to his own.

They both started slightly as what sounded like a cannon boomed suddenly in the background.

"Champions!" Came Bagman's customary battle-cry.

Harry stared into those gorgeous grey eyes for a moment longer before pulling away.

"We'd better go." He said reluctantly.

Cedric sighed slightly before nodding and following him.

* * *

Someone had managed to wedge Bagman into vaguely sensible clothes. If the slight note of disgruntlement in his expression was anything to go by, then the ministry Head of Department robes weren't to his taste.

"Gather round." He told the champions, whilst a couple of his colleagues removed anyone else from the vicinity.

Once they were all sat in a semi-circle in front of him, he beamed.

"Now, when my fellow adjudicator appears…" he began even as Lord Crouch stepped up beside him, moustache neatly guillotined and trousers creased to maximum aerodynamic efficiency.

"Here, Ludo." He said stiffly, sweeping his eyes over the assembled.

"Excellent." Lord Crouch flinched slightly as he was thumped on the back.

"Champions, this afternoon is a free for all. Essentially, you are to be released into the stadium, and the last twelve standing will progress."

"So ve are to vight each other?" Andrei asked, eyes fixed on Harry.

"Someone's got an obsession." Harry whispered to Cedric.

The other boy responded by narrowing his eyes at the Russian student.

Meanwhile, Ludo was looking delighted.

"Exactly!"

Lord Crouch stepped in.

"Standard international competition duelling rules. The use of any spells beyond ICW Index Four will result in immediate disqualification." He left unsaid the implication obvious to those present; that disqualification would not at this stage nullify the contract. Candidates removed by the organisers would lose their magic.

"How are we to join the arena? Are we to be positioned randomly, or by school?" The Chilean girl asked.

"You will be portkeyed into the arena. You will all be positioned around the edge, randomly rather than by institution. A countdown will then begin, during which you are not allowed to move from your position or take any offensive or defensive actions. Beyond that, you're on your own. You will all also be provided with an emergency portkey."

At this, he drew a black cloth bag from his robes. Each champion was passed a small glass sphere.

"Once these enter the arena, they become touch activated, so make sure not to use them by mistake."

Harry eyed his portkey with satisfaction. He nodded briefly at Cedric, finding himself unable to stop a smile at the sight of the other boy.

"I suggest you all place a drop of blood on your portkeys." Lord Crouch continued. "This will tie them to you for the next couple of hours, and allow them to automatically remove you from the arena should your injuries become life-threatening."

Several champions swallowed visibly at that, the reality of the tournament apparently now beginning to hit home.

Crouch drew out a steel chain, from which were suspended twenty four sequential numbers.

"This is the portkey that will take you to the arena." He tapped it briefly with his wand and muttered something. "It will activate in three minutes. Each of you should be touching a single number, and no other part. Before you ask, of course the numbers do not in any way correspond to your subsequent position in the arena."

He left the tent.

"Well. Good luck!" Bagman exclaimed, before bounding after his colleague.

As soon as they left, the tent became a mass of conversation and movement as champions tried to work out plans to reach their schoolmate, and grasped for the arena portkey.

Wordlessly, Cedric pricked his finger and pressed a drop of his blood to Harry's portkey.

"Reach me."

Harry grinned at him.

"Oh, nothing could keep me away now."

Cedric blushed slightly as they took their numbers.

"And…three…two…one…" Harry mouthed to him, feeling the runes in the chain locking together as the timed-release mechanism activated.

* * *

Sand, sun and screaming crowds. An ominously coliseum-like setting.

Harry quickly surveyed the surrounding champions and found Cedric, golden and perfect in the sunlight, immediately opposite. He grinned.

"Eight…seven…six…"

Bagman's steadily boomed countdown fell.

Harry levitated the emergency portkey out of his pocket. Hovering in front of him, he flooded magic into it, focusing on a spot next to his fellow champion.

"One."

An impressively quickly loosed spell from the champion immediately to his right flashed towards him. The magic suspending the glass marble had, however, been released, and it dropped neatly into his waiting palm.

He snapped back into existence a fraction of a second later.

He almost shivered at the caress of magic he could feel from behind Cedric's gleaming shield.

"You can give me a minute?"

Cedric smiled at him.

"Easily." His voice wasn't even strained, in spite of the battery of spells exploding against the silvery dome he was holding around them.

Harry, shaking off the impact of the smile, stepped back to the wall of the arena, thick timbers eight feet high and carved deeply with runes.

Two flashed spells later and a large section of the runes had been copied and drawn in seven concentric circles into the sand.

A drop of his blood and twist of his fingers, and the emergency portkey was ground into a fine powder. Its remains were spread, very thinly, out amongst the runes in the sand.

Harry drew his basilisk wand and pressed its tip to the binding rune that was the centre of that section of the stadium's wards. It burned away. The magic behind it, now free, tried to escape, but was carefully drawn into the new pattern on the ground.

The binding rune had just kept the magic stuck cycling around that particular system. The new runes rebound it, but made the system slightly larger.

Harry poured some of his own magic into the array on the ground and watched, satisfied, as a brief flare ran around the circles.

"You can drop the shield now." He told Cedric calmly.

"You've done it already?"

"Yup. Told you I was good."

The other boy chuckled and released his shield.

* * *

Seeing the shimmering barrier drop, the four champions now apparently united in attacking it, paused momentarily before redoubling their efforts with vaguely triumphant expressions.

The expressions vanished with their spells. None of them even made it past the outermost ring of runes, which glowed faintly as it absorbed and dispelled each assault.

"No half measures from the Ministry." Harry commented as he conjured a couple of outdoor chairs and a table.

Cedric eyed the array.

"Apparently not." He replied, raising an amused eyebrow as he took his seat.

* * *

"Remarkable!" Boomed Bagman. "The Hogwarts champions appear to be using some sort of runic construction as a shield! I must say, I've never seen anything like it, and certainly not done so quickly. It's taking a heavy battering, though, and one has to wonder how long the protection will last."

He chuckled.

"Not apparently a concern shared by the local competitors; who appear to be rather more relaxed than one would have expected."

The crowd tittered slightly.

"Ouch!" The commentator exclaimed suddenly. "That must have hurt!" He commiserated as the non-Fleur Beauxbatons champion drew himself to his feet gingerly, having been thrown viciously against the wall in front of the stands by one of the Chinese competitors.

"And I make it seventeen competitors we're down to now. It's been a bloody opening few minutes, with several champions being caught off guard, but things appear to have settled down somewhat."

"Goodness! I'm not sure that was strictly necessary. You might want to cover your eyes, ladies." Bagman suggested jovially, as the crowd, completely ignoring his suggestion, giggled and muttered over the newly-naked boy from Casa Rafaello, who had apparently been forced to vanish his clothes before they tied him up.

The girl from Ilvermorny responsible was also distracted by the view, though, to the extent that the Italian, conjuring himself some underwear, was able to stun and bind her.

"Poor girl." Commented an obviously grinning Bagman. "Apparently got more than she expected with that one."

McGonagall's viciously disapproving glare was lost amongst the laughter.

"And the Hogwarts competitors still seem to be holding strong, although I'm not quite sure where they've got those drinks from."

* * *

Cedric and Harry sat sipping iced lemonade in the sunshine.

"I'm not sure we're supposed to have house elves bring us refreshments." Cedric noted amusedly.

Harry shrugged.

"Weirdly, that one doesn't seem to have made it into the official tournament rulebook. I wonder when they're going to give up?"

Cedric glanced at the two Russians still trying to break their way past the ward.

"I think your friend," his voice darkened on the last word, "is determined."

"Then the other one will leave him. They're too exposed where they are."

Cedric nodded his agreement, watching a group of the other champions as they gradually moved in.

Dmitry, as Harry remembered the more sensible seeming Koldovstoretz student being called, tried snapping off an order to Andrei, but was ignored. He gave up, and walked quickly backwards until he was pressed up against the perimeter wall, abandoning his fellow.

Andrei fell pretty quickly, a join in the layers of dragonhide at his neck apparently more than wide enough for the pretty Chilean girl to flick a body-bind into.

She flashed a smile at the two sheltered Hogwarts champions, before turning away to begin dueling fiercely with the remaining Russian, receiving cover from her own schoolmate.

* * *

"Thirteen!"

Bagman was, if little else, a good commentator. The pace had slowed down dramatically after the initial casualties, and nearly six minutes elapsed between the falls of the tenth and eleventh champions. The defeat of the last was more timely.

"Ouch! My goodness, that was brutal!" Exclaimed Bagman.

"Impressive." Commented Cedric, as they watched the Chilean girl exchange a respectful nod with Dmitry, the boy she'd been duelling for nearly fifteen minutes solid.

"Yes. Although, admittedly, he wasn't nearly as good and might have become dead weight in later tasks. He'd certainly cut down on the amount of publicity she gets back home."

"Agreed. It's good neither of us share those concerns." Cedric acknowledged as they watched the tournament officials come into the arena to collect the fallen champions. The Chilean girl crouched down to revive the fellow student she'd stunned from behind at the last moment.

He seemed to take the backstabbing graciously, however.

"Now that's practicality." Harry commented. "They must have had that worked out as a contingency. She's in this competition to win."

"Think she will?"

"Not a chance." He grinned in response to the question, even as he swept the rune circles drawn in the sand away with a flick of his wand.

"Ready to be interviewed?"

Cedric smiled.

"If we must. I take it we'll be speaking to someone less objectionable than Skeeter?"

"Naturally. Mr Cuffe was remarkably unwilling to suffer my ire. I understand Rita has suddenly become the _Prophet's_ agony Aunt."

Cedric laughed.

"I can only imagine her exacerbating the problems she's given."

"Agreed."

* * *

"My children!"

"I sincerely hope not." Cedric muttered to Harry.

Dumbledore, in deep purple robes and wearing a crown of laurel leaves like some sort of pseudo Roman emperor, smiled gently.

"You have done us all proud."

"Indeed they have, headmaster." Agreed a delighted looking Professor Slughorn.

Harry allowed himself to be grabbed from behind and spun around, even as he grinned at Cedric's instinctively raising his wand at the surprise assailant.

"Well played, pup." Complimented his godfather, finally dropping him.

"Thanks."

He grinned at his Aunt and Grandmother as they made a more dignified entrance into the champions' tent.

"Well, Granny, what will London think?"

"That you're remarkably lazy and arrogant." She rejoindered.

"Ah well, it runs in the family, I suppose." Harry commented, with a pointed look at Sirius.

"It does." He agreed with a straight face. "Your parents were the same."

Slughorn chuckled merrily.

"Now, now, Sirius, the last thing Lily was was lazy."

"Lord Potter-Black, might I congratulate you, and you as well, Mr Diggory, on a stunning first performance?"

"Thank you, Mr Ardenny," Harry said pleasantly, "but I think 'stunning' might be stretching it a little far."

Cedric nodded.

"Understated, perhaps? Effortless, collected?"

They watched as the reporter scribbled busily.

"So, after seeing the other champions' performances, who do you think is your most serious competition?"

"Well, Isadora looks to be a formidable opponent." Cedric said immediately, naming the Chilean girl.

"Dmitry, the girl from Xi-Xo-An, the boy from Mahoutokoro, and perhaps Mademoiselle Delacour." Harry added.

Ardenny nodded.

"It's rumoured you've met Miss Delacour before. Is there, perhaps, anything there?" He asked with a slight smile.

Harry felt Cedric stiffen slightly beside him, and instinctively wanted to reach out and reassure him.

"I was honoured to have the pleasure of her company at a reception held by her father the year before last. She is a formidable witch and a charming lady. I hope we consider one another friends, but there is nothing more between us." He said smoothly, smiling internally as he felt Cedric's stance beside him relax.

"And you, Mr Diggory, any comment on your supposed romance with the delightful Miss Chang?"

It was Harry's turn to feel possessive.

Cedric however, behind his neutral façade, looked slightly irritated.

"I have no idea what source your information has come from, but I suggest you ignore it in future." He told Ardenny firmly.

The reporter looked suitably quelled, and asked a few more innocuous questions before disappearing.

"His diplomacy could use some work." Dorea commented disapprovingly.

"Ced!"

Cedric was seized by a beaming man, making it Harry's turn to think about his wand.

"So proud, my boy, so proud."

"Thank you, father." Cedric replied slightly stiffly, slowly disengaging himself and smiling past his father's shoulder towards a woman Harry assumed to be his mother.

"Indeed, congratulations to the pair of you." Said the slim blonde, who, disadvantaged by a decade, still rivalled his aunt in attractiveness.

"My thanks, Lady Diggory, although most of the credit must, I fear, lie with your son."

Cedric snorted incredulously.

"It's the other way around, mother." He told her.

She smiled indulgently.

"Both so diplomatic."

"That's my Ced. Always trying to give others the credit for his hard work."

Aunt Mim blinked at Lord Diggory.

"He doesn't mean that." Lady Diggory assured Harry in a tone of faint resignation.

Cedric aimed a faintly pained smile at him.

* * *

Harry lounged indolently on a chaise in front of the fireplace in the Blackleprickle common room, feigning relaxation to himself. It was well past midnight and both of his housemates had retired for the night.

The long-awaited knock came eventually. Harry willed the door open to see Cedric standing outside.

They grinned brightly and instinctively at one another. Pushing past the prospect of awkwardness, they met one another in the middle of the room.

"Missed you." Harry murmured, pressing his lips against the warmth of Cedric's neck as the other boy wrapped his arms around him.

Cedric quirked a small smile.

"I escaped the party as soon as I could. I didn't really want to be there, to be honest."

Harry pulled back to face him, grinning.

"I admit I'm probably a slightly more attractive prospect than squealing third years."

Cedric smirked faintly.

"You're only a fourth year."

"For some reason. Anyway, let's go up to my rooms."

He grabbed Cedric's hand and pulled the other boy after him to the staircase.

"Hold on tight." He told him, indicating the brass rail.

Harry took advantage of his own warning to wrap an arm around Cedric's slim waist, before clicking his heel twice against the bottom step.

He felt Cedric shift slightly in surprise as the staircase started spiralling smoothly upwards.

"Was this already installed?"

"Nope. I did it. Got the idea from _Hogwarts: A History's_ description of the stairway to the headmaster's office. Having to climb fifteen floors every time I wanted to access my rooms seemed somewhat excessive."

Harry reluctantly let go of the other boy as the staircase stopped in front of an ironbound door. He pressed both hands flat against the surface, which disappeared under them.

"Wow." Cedric said softly as he followed Harry inside.

He grinned slightly.

"I admit it's not very wizardy." He acknowledged.

"It's spectacular." Cedric breathed out, turning round to see the door had vanished. Beyond the plate glass, the tower that held the staircase also seemed to have disappeared.

Harry had bisected the large, circular space with a single wall.

The original stone exterior walls had been replaced in their entirety by enormous sheets of tempered glass that ringed the space. It had cost a fortune to get the best goblin engineers in to do the work, and another one to have the vast illusions woven into place, illusions that meant the tower appeared identical to how it had for centuries from the outside.

The view was magnificent. Hogwarts' other towers rose in candlelit splendour against the star-laden sky.

The room itself he'd furnished in a sleek modern interpretation of Art Deco. A conference-cum-dining table with chairs for twelve sat in the centre. A desk stood off to the right, in front of the windows, and near the neat bookshelves that filled the dividing wall. A thick cream carpet covered the floor and heavy lamps scattered the space, emanating pools of warm light.

He took Cedric to the left side of the room, where low-slung furniture sat grouped elegantly around a large coffee table.

Harry dropped himself into a chair.

"So, how would Blackleprickle regard a transfer request?" Cedric joked lightly as he settled himself.

"I think we'd welcome it." Harry said honestly. "But I know you're far too loyal to Hufflepuff."

Cedric nodded slowly before his expression became more serious.

"So, what are we?" He asked slightly nervously.

Harry paused to collect his thoughts.

"I know this is new…" he began, "but I meant what I said earlier. I really do like you."

They met one another's eyes shyly.

"I feel the same. So, Harry, would you be my boyfriend?"

Cedric blushed slightly at the brilliance of the smile he received.

"I'd love to, as long as that makes you mine."

"I'm yours." Cedric said softly.

At that, Harry felt compelled to stand up and move over to stand in front of Cedric. He swallowed at the naked affection in those gorgeous eyes, before dropping himself into his boyfriend's lap.

Cedric exclaimed slightly in surprise, but his arms instinctively wrapped around him.

"Hello, beautiful." Harry said softly, leaning in.

Half an hour of kissing later found the pair of them stretched out on the sofa, Harry lying comfortably on top of his boyfriend, chin resting on folded hands on Cedric's firm chest.

"I take it we don't want to be open about our relationship?" He asked quietly.

Cedric's dropping eyelids fluttered open and his arms tightened around Harry's waist. He sighed softly.

"Of course I want to be. I'm afraid my father wouldn't take it well, however."

Harry smiled and leaned in for another kiss.

"No pressure. I'm not ready yet, either. I'm getting enough attention as it is without raising the ire of half the purebloods in Britain."

Cedric drew him closer.

"Thank you."

* * *

Harry woke to find himself supremely comfortable and peculiarly warm. He remembered where he was just before he opened his eyes.

He blinked once before focusing on the warm grey eyes that were staring at him.

"Hey." Cedric greeted him, smiling gently.

"Morning." Harry replied, before tilting his head slightly and smirking faintly. "You know," he began, "you'd be a much better pillow if you were a bit chubbier."

Cedric laughed, a warm, relaxed sound.

His eyes sparkled faintly with mischief as he turned them onto their sides.

"You mean you don't like me as I am?" He questioned, pulling up his t-shirt to reveal several inches of tanned and toned abdominals.

Harry stared admiringly for a few seconds before flipping himself over the back of the sofa.

"Don't tempt me."

Cedric grinned in triumph and stood, before composing himself.

"You can offer me a shower and a change of clothes?"

"Of course. There's an entrance to the bathroom behind that bookcase, just push the left side of the frame. I'll find you some clothes."

* * *

"You seem remarkably cheerful this morning?" Liram questioned curiously as he watched Harry fill his plate with smoked salmon.

He nearly blushed, but brushed it off.

"Well, have you seen the prophet headline?" He asked, waving a hand to unfold and float it in front of Liram.

"Not that you're showing off or anything." Daphne commented as she came to sit on his other side.

"Well, it's shortened the odds on me quite a bit, so I'm not particularly happy about it."

She smirked.

"Father put his money on you weeks ago. Eighty to one, I believe."

"That's just insulting."

Liram raised an eyebrow at him.

"So what did you get?"

"Fifty to one."

"One, two, three."

"You normally count down to a surprise, Professor."

Slughorn chuckled merrily before waggling his finger at the three students sat eating breakfast in their common room.

"I know that, m'boy, but it's not such a surprise in this case." He continued cheerfully, proudly brandishing a sheet of parchment.

"I take it I've been supplanted, then?" Liram asked resignedly.

"I'm afraid so, Mr Shafiq." The professor managed, somewhat apologetically.

"Would someone like to tell me what's going on?"

"We're the top three in the year." Daphne told him succinctly.

"Indeed you are." Slughorn laid down his parchment.

"Perhaps Hogwarts should more accept transfer students." Daphne suggested lightly as she read upside down.

"I wasn't a transfer." Harry corrected.

"Thirteen predicted Os to my twelve." Liram noted wryly. "And you're taking the exams in what, four more subjects?"

"Probably, well, if I decide it's worth it."

"Dumbledore gained fifteen, my boy." Slughorn told him seriously. "Surely you wouldn't want to let him beat you?"

"Of course not. But I'm sure I can also find other ways to do it."

"I have no doubt you can, but anyway, there was a second matter I wanted to bring up this morning."

"And what might that be, Professor?" Daphne asked, eyeing him steadily from behind a cup of herbal tea.

"The Yule Ball, my dear." Slughorn told her delightedly.

"Is this what's going to keep us here over the holiday?" Liram asked resignedly.

"No need to look so down, my boy. It promises to be a marvellous event."

"Tell us about it, Professor?" Daphne asked.

"It's a Ball." Slughorn deadpanned, before giving in to the unimpressed expressions he was receiving.

"It is to be held on the twenty fourth of this month and begin at eight in the evening. It comprises a formal meal, to which all Professors, champions, ex-champions and their families, as well as Hogwarts students in fourth year or above, the unselected representatives of the competing schools, and senior members of the Ministry and society in general are invited. Following the meal is the ball itself, which will open with a dance from the champions and their partners."

He indicated Harry with his last statement.

"Must we attend?" Daphne asked, looking utterly disinterested.

Harry turned to her with a hurt expression.

"What happened to house solidarity? If I'm being forced to go, then you surely wouldn't abandon me?"

Liram sighed.

"Well, I suppose my father's going, so I'd better be there."

Slughorn, who had been looking slightly upset at the lack of enthusiasm relaxed at the display of resignation.

"I'm sure it will be a wonderful evening." He told them jovially, before levering himself his feet. "And don't forget to bring partners." He told them sternly before waddling out.


End file.
